Ace Combat: The Angels of Emmeria
by HeirOfRohan
Summary: The year was 2015, 16 years since the event known as 'The Ulysses Disaster'. Another war was brewing far to the north on the once peaceful continent of Anea, where the Republic of Emmeria would face its ultimate challenge for survival in the form of its jealous neighbor, The Federal Republic of Estovakia... The Anean Continental War was upon them. A novelization of AC6.
1. Prologue

**_Foreword_** _:_ I don't own the _Ace Combat_ series. All of them are owned by Bandai Namco and Project Aces. The only characters I own are my OCs.

Have fun reading!

* * *

 ** _Ace Combat: The Angels of Emmeria_**

* * *

 _"Amidst the blue skies, a link from past to future. The sheltering wings of the protector..."_

 _\- Original quote_

* * *

 ** _Prologue_**

* * *

1999\. The year where everything went to hell.

When the asteroid designated as ' _Ulysses_ _1994XF04'_ was discovered by Usean scientists in the year 1994, astronomers at first believed it to be another random space rock to name, measure and categorize — one of dozens that had already been discovered and categorized since Osea launched the groundbreaking Hubble Space Telescope in the year 1990.

As the astronomers, astrophysicists, and geologists went and calculated the numbers and predicted its intended orbit and trajectory, they came to a shocking and terrifying discovery.

It was coming **_at_** ** _them_** — 1.6 kilometers of space rock was set on a collision course with Earth in the next few years, predicted to reach unstable Earth orbit on July 3, 1999.

The Federation of Central Usea, the country which first discovered the existence of the threat, sprang into action, at first foolishly withholding the information from the public to prevent mass hysteria and even worse political upheaval, before finally conceding that it can't do much without the help of its allies. Plans were set in motion, treaties were signed, alliances were formed, and the world did its best to prepare for the coming onslaught.

Some countries, like the Republic of Emmeria on the Anean Continent up to the north, built underground reinforced shelters to better protect its civilians from the expected fragments that came from the breaking up of _Ulysses._ They persuaded neighboring Federal Republic of Estovakia and the Kingdom of Nordennavic to use their castles to shelter evacuees, and in addition constructed a network of underground shelters in and around the capital, Gracemeria.

Others, like members of the Usea Treaty Organization, opted to build planetary defense systems, such as the Stonehenge Turret Network which utilized advanced railgun technology to intercept the _Ulysses_ fragments before they enter the Earth's atmosphere. The Osean Federation and the Union of Yuktobanian Republics jointly developed the ' _Arkbird'_ asteroid interception spacecraft, fitted with an anti-asteroid laser in a ventral housing.

While these countries were well-prepared, the rest of the world was not.

And it all came to a head on July 3, 1999.

Despite their preparations, Estovakia, the Erusean Republic, and countless other countries were devastated by _Ulysses_. Thousands of lives had been lost to asteroid fragments the size of a small hill impacting into the heart of city centers and other populated areas. Countless smaller meteorites rained like hellfire onto the beleaguered inhabitants of the planet below.

The Ulysses Disaster.

That was what they were calling it, and it triggered many changes and upheavals within the nations of the world and had a profound effect on the lives of its inhabitants. The event became the catalyst for a number of crises and military conflicts within Usea and around the world, leaving a lasting legacy of nearly twenty years: —

The Usean Continental War.

The Second Usean Continental War.

The Circum-Pacific War.

The Estovakian Civil War.

These are just four of the largest — and most significant — among many smaller proxy conflicts that erupted around the globe.

And, just over the horizon, another conflict was brewing within the continent of Anea, as the conclusion of Estovakia's bloody civil war saw the rise of a new government headed by a group of men, calling themselves 'The Generals', a group of high ranking Estovakian military personnel that directed the victorious Eastern Faction. As their country's infrastructure and economy were in shambles due to _Ulysses_ , feelings of hatred and jealousy rippled through the top echelons of the Estovakian government at their relatively unscathed neighbor, the Republic of Emmeria.

The year was 2015, 16 years after the Ulysses Disaster.

And, on this year, 'The Generals' were about to embark on their boldest and riskiest move in their short tenure in power since the defeat of the Lyes United Front to relive their country's and their personal woes — The Invasion of Emmeria.

* * *

Melissa Herman looked up from the book she was reading when she heard the distinctive sounds of her husband's motorcycle driving up her home's driveway, causing a warm smile to curl at her lips.

Setting down the book on the living room coffee table, the blonde haired blue-eyed woman stood to greet her beloved at the door. As the sounds of the motorcycle engines died out, so did the sounds of Melissa's footsteps as she unlocked the front door and opened it, stepping out onto the front porch as she did.

The first thing that greeted her was the glare of the afternoon Emmerian sunshine. Squinting her eyes as she put a hand over her eyes to block out the sun's harsh light, allowing her eyesight to adjust properly, Melissa's smile broadened as she noticed the man she had been waiting for walking up the steps of the front porch, a duffle bag strung over his shoulder.

Three months. That was how long his last assignment had been, something about having to participate in a war game between Emmeria and Nordennavic, far to the north.

Melissa sighed to herself, though the smile still remained genuine on her lips.

Although she would've liked to spend more time with her husband, she knew she couldn't complain. He always took leave whenever he could get away with it with the top brass, usually getting a reprimand for his troubles — much to her equal amusement and horror, as he was always a troublemaker, even back in high school. Besides, he always liked to fly with his 'angels'.

Angels. That's what he referred to his fighter jet when Melissa had asked him a few years ago, and it had become a running joke and greeting of luck within the family ever since.

The man stood in front of her, gray eyes twinkling with warmth and love as he grinned like an idiot. His dark, disheveled hair was trimmed professionally. His small stubble on his angled face was also trimmed, with telltale signs of a well-managed goatee already in the works.

Melissa suppressed an amused laugh at that — he had always wanted to get a goatee when he had played the Osean video game ' _Command and Conquer_ ' and always admired the Osean actor Joseph Kucan's character, Kane, with his distinctive goatee.

Apparently it was cool in his opinion, which made Melissa want to laugh all the more at her husband's silliness.

He wore a drab light gray jacket which was left opened on the front over a white T-shirt, and blue jeans. Ever since joining the Republic of Emmeria Air Force, he had always opted not to wear any of the standard issue BDUs and utility uniforms when going back home — 'work clothes stay at work,' he had said — instead preferring casual clothing.

This was Johnathan "Jack" Herman, Melissa's husband and love of her life.

"I'm back, Mel!" Jack said with a bright grin.

"Welcome home, Jack." Melissa said as she hugged him to her, feeling his strong arms hugging her back.

At five foot eight, she was considered of an average height by Emmerian standards and while she was proud with her figure and her height, Jack's six foot frame nearly dwarfed her. Standing nearly a head taller than her, Melissa had to tilt her head up to meet her husband's eyes before closing the distance between them, kissing him for the first time in three months.

They pulled away when the sound of bounding footsteps echoed from the door. Already knowing who it was, Melissa stepped away to the right before a blonde blur crashed into Jack's waiting arms with a resounding cry of, "Daddy!"

"Why hello, hello Matilda!" Jack crowed as he chuckled, spinning the squealing 9 nearly 10 year old Matilda Herman around in his arms, laughing loudly as he did. Finally setting the girl down, he kneeled in front of her and asked. "How are you, sweet pea?"

Matilda giggled. She always loved her dad's nickname for her, even if it was a bit childish.

"I've been great Daddy!" she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Did you have a nice dance with the angels?"

Jack laughed. He still remembered the day when he had told his precious daughter about what did he meant when he said angels, and it seemed the name stuck to the little blonde bundle of joy.

"Yes I did." He replied with a smile. "We put on quite the performance last week — you should've seen it!"

"Oh, I'd love to!" Matilda said enthusiastically. "Can you bring me to your next meeting with the angels?"

Jack rubbed his chin, making a show of thinking about her suggestion very seriously, drawing small laughs from Melissa and giggles from Matilda as he made exaggerated hums of contemplation before grinning.

"Sure, I'll bring you next time." he said, drawing a small cheer from his daughter. "If I can get the brass off my back, I would certainly bring you to the base."

"Jack!"

"What?" Jack responded innocently to Melissa's outburst, knowing full well how bringing his 9 year old daughter to base was a surefire way to get a reprimand, even possibly warrant an expulsion.

Melissa huffed. "You know what I mean…"

"I do?"

" _Yes_ , you do."

Jack turned towards his daughter, who was fighting hard to contain her giggles. "Do you know what your mother is talking about?"

Matilda nodded, small titters escaping her.

"I think mom is worried about you getting in trouble with your bosses and getting fired." She supplied.

Jack smirked mischievously. "Who says they'll know you're there?" he asked slyly.

Matilda finally broke down into laughter as Melissa mock glared at her husband, though the smile on her lips greatly negated the intended effect.

"Alright, who's hungry? Because I am starved!" Jack said loudly, purposely running in a comical fashion after his daughter who broke into a small run into the house, Melissa following her silly husband as she closed the door.

With Matilda's giggles still ringing throughout the house, Jack finally turned towards Melissa, his expression turning serious, prompting Melissa to feel a small amount of dread. When the normally goofy and laid-back Jack Herman became serious, then it was very important to listen to his worries.

"What is it?" Melissa asked after a small pause, taking Jack's hands in hers, bringing her comfort with its warmth in her fingers.

Jack sighed.

"Estovakia's gone silent." He began. "No border patrols, no troop movements, no comm. signals, no satellite pings, radar pings, _nothing_. It seems like everything in the Stovie's borders is deserted — empty for a lack of a better term and that is _not_ normal. High command has already issued a yellow alert to all commands."

Melissa paled at her husband's words.

Everyone in Emmeria knew the situation in their neighbor, and they had also heard about the takeover of the government by a military junta, making many an Emmerian worried for their safety and well-being, seeing Gracemeria, their capital city, was just a few hundred miles away from the Estovakian border, easily traversed by jet powered aircraft these days.

She didn't even want to think about the possibility of war.

"Why are you telling me this, Jack?" she asked silently, "You really don't think there could be… be a… _war_ , do you?"

Jack sighed once again, running his hands through his hair, dropping his duffle bag beside the door. Stuffing his hands into his jeans' pockets, he went quiet for a moment, thinking about it before speaking.

"Hopefully, nothing will come of this, and brush it off as the Intelligence guys getting paranoid. But, if they're _right_ …" he said, reaching out towards Melissa to pull her into a hug, which she gladly returned. "I want you to take our daughter, and _run_. Get as far away from the Estovakian border as you can, and don't look back. Run towards Nordennavic if you have to. Do you understand me?"

Melissa shakily nodded, tears springing to her eyes as she looked up at him, blue eyes asking her unasked question.

"Don't worry about me; I'll be fine — fighting the good fight with the angels." Jack said with a small smile, kissing his wife lightly on the lips reassuringly. "Trust me on this, Mel."

"I'm trying to…" she replied brokenly. "B-But… i-if I lose you…"

"You won't," Jack said confidently, steel in his eyes. "Not now, not _ever_. So don't even start."

Melissa took a shaky breath, then a second, then a third, before finally nodding, wiping her eyes dry with her sleeves as she did. Looking up into the eyes of her beloved, wanting to savor the moments with him before everything went downhill in the next few weeks or days.

While she thought about it, she had forgotten to ask Jack one thing about his career in the Air Force — his service unit.

"What unit are you in?" Melissa asked, genuinely curious, but also to keep an ear out for casualty reports _if_ the war breaks out, no matter how painful it will be for her. "You never told me when you joined up six years ago."

Jack smiled. Holding her clasped hands with his own, he brought it up to his lips, kissing it as he did. Winking, he spoke.

"Ask me again when I leave." He said quietly, slipping back into his cheerful persona as he rumbled into the dining area where Matilda was, who was calling out for them to make lunch.

Though a little annoyed by the way Jack dropped the subject until later, Melissa nevertheless felt a strange sort of serene calmness, even with the threat of a war hanging overhead. Matilda was about to go on a class trip two days from now on a Friday, and they were supposedly headed towards the National Emmerian Museum of Gracemeria in the city's old quarter just beyond the King's Bridge. She could only hope that the trip would go well for her daughter.

With her mind still preoccupied with the information Jack had given her, Melissa made her way to the kitchen to join her small family, fully intending to spend as much time as she could with them as possible.

* * *

The Herman family spent the next day thoroughly enjoying themselves, the lone child enjoying it for she could spend it with her parents, while the two adults were enjoying it to spend what would probably be the last moments they would spend together as a family for a long time — they just didn't know when that day will come.

"Come ooon!" Matilda called out to her parents, waving her arms back and worth. "I want to try the swing today!"

"Didn't you try that the last time you were here?" Jack questioned with an amused expression.

Matilda pouted as Melissa smiled.

"It's the thought that counts daddy!" she replied cheekily. "Now, come on!"

Jack laughed as he speed walked to catch up with her, with Melissa slowly catching up behind them.

They had decided on an outing today to the city park, one of Matilda's favorite places in Gracemeria. Jack brought her here when she was two and was just barely able to walk on her own, and ever since then it had become a routine place for family outings.

It helped when there was an ice cream store nearby.

Jack seemed to look like he was enjoying himself, and anyone other than Melissa would see it too. But Melissa wasn't his wife for nothing. She could read the underlying current of tension and worry that accompanied his smiles, his laughs and his movements. Barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

Near high noon, when Matilda skipped on ahead towards the ice cream parlor, Jack finally spoke his mind.

"I'm needed at the base."

His wife looked to him so fast he could swear he heard her neck creak, eyes wide in trepidation.

"So soon?" she asks softly, "When?"

"Tonight, 9 o'clock. Base Commander Jameson recalled all available pilots to be on standby." He replied, "Command's not taking any chances."

Melissa looked sad, which broke Jack's heart at seeing that expression. The last time he had seen it was when he had another date for junior prom, and didn't ask her out. He felt like an idiot back then, so he asked her out the second the new term started. Best decision of his life.

The blonde beauty took a shaky breath, letting it out as Jack hugged across her shoulders, allowing her to snuggle into him. They stayed like that for a few moments, with Jack softly kissing her on top of her head while they walked towards where their daughter was already buying a double mint chocolate chip, signaling them over to urge them to come to her faster if she waved hard enough.

"I understand." Melissa finally said, voice resigned but warm all the same. "Go dance with your angels, mister. And come back to me and Matilda, safe and sound…"

Stunned for a moment, Jack couldn't help but chuckle at his wife's choice of words to convey both her love and frustration.

She always said those words to him when he went on long term assignments, and some… other operations that can't be discussed by him in detail to her on pain of death (which were a bit excessive if he were to say so himself). He'd been working his ass off during flight school and clocked in _thousands_ of hours in the flight and g-force simulators to improve his skills, both on and off the battlefield, even though he hadn't been in actual combat yet.

Becoming a fighter pilot was a dream to him, and he was aiming to be the best one there is.

"I will." he said with conviction. "I promise."

After that, the Herman family spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the capital city, seeing the sights that the small family had never had the time to appreciate, and once they were both satisfied and exhausted, they took a city bus back to their home, which offered a direct view of the King's Bridge.

As they all trudged inside, Matilda more energetic than her parents, Jack made a beeline for the kitchen to grab a glass to drink as Melissa advised her daughter to clean up and prepare for dinner.

A few hours later, as the family of three sat down to have dinner — fish 'n' chips with salad — the doorbell suddenly rang, startling the occupants and made them wonder who would be visiting them this late.

Melissa walked up towards the door, opening it slightly to see who was on the other side. Much to her delighted surprise, there stood a woman a little younger than herself with shoulder length dark brown hair and violet eyes, along with a young girl around Matilda's age, also with shoulder length dark brown hair but with brown eyes.

"Oh my, Monica and young Jessica!" Melissa exclaimed, having just remembered they were staying the night with them before Jessica, the younger girl, would go on the same trip with Matilda to see the 'Golden King' at the Museum. Jessica was a classmate of Matilda's from school. "I'm so sorry; I forgot you were coming over to stay the night! Please, come in!"

Monica smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry to intrude…" she began.

Melissa quickly waved off the younger woman's apology. "Don't worry about it, we're thrilled to have you two over." She replied. "In fact, we're just about to start dinner; I'll fix up two more servings seeing as we have bought quite a lot."

Monica just smiled, bowing her head slightly. "Thank you, Mel."

"No problem, Mia."

"Mel, who's at the door?" Jack's voice called out from the dining area, obviously waiting for his wife for dinner to start.

Melissa looked back towards the direction of his voice and called back, "It's Monica and Jessica!" she said.

"Who?" "Jessie!?"

Jack's and Matilda's voices sounded out at the same time, followed by the owners of the voices themselves appearing in the hallway, the youngest Herman going straight towards the other younger girl. Once the girls were out of sight, chatting happily all the way towards the kitchen, Melissa decided to introduce her new friend to her husband.

"Jack, this is Monica Lampert." She began, gesturing towards the other woman. "Her daughter Jessica's in the same class as our Matilda."

She then gestured towards Jack. "Mia, this is my husband Johnathan Herman, or Jack if you will." she explained.

Jack held out a hand towards Monica. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

"The pleasure's all mine, Jack." Monica said with a smile, shaking the offered hand. "It's so nice to finally meet you — Melissa talked about you a lot."

Jack raised an amused eyebrow, lips quirking into a grin. "She did, huh?" he asked, glancing at his wife who was slightly blushing.

Monica nodded, laughing lightly. "You're all that she talks about, well, besides Matilda that is, and frankly I don't blame her…"

Melissa huffed as she mock glared at her friend. "I do _not_ talk about Jack all the time." She defended.

The brunette grinned. "Suit yourself, whatever makes you sleep at night."

"Traitor."

"Aww, I love you too."

Jack could only chuckle in both amusement and confusion as he stared at the two women, completely lost in their conversation. He still couldn't for the life of him figure out how his wife could keep track of so many conversations when they kept on changing subjects from time to time.

He sighed. All this thinking was giving him a headache.

"Come on," he began. "We need to get to dinner, or Matilda's gonna go crazy for the tartar sauce. _Again_."

The three adults chuckled all the way towards the kitchen area.

Dinner was a pleasant and fun affair, what with the two young girls going on and on about their trip to see the 'Golden King' the next day and the idle talk the three adults were exchanging, it was actually quite peaceful in Jack's opinion.

But, as it is, all good things must come to an end.

After cleaning up the dishes and tucking his daughter to bed, Jack stood in front of the door, jacket in hand and duffle bag over his shoulder, and was saying goodbyes to his wife. Monica had already tucked Jessica in for the night in the guest bedroom and was standing on the side.

"I'll be back alright?" he said softly, hugging Melissa to him as he stroked her back soothingly. "Stay strong for Matilda, Mel. I'm counting on you."

Melissa nodded. "Stay safe…" she whispered, "I love you, Jack."

"Love you too, Mel…" Jack whispered, before his tone turned sly. "Too bad we couldn't have a repeat performance of last night."

He could practically feel the heat on his wife's cheeks as he was sure she was flushing a cherry red, causing him laugh. Melissa just smacked him, causing the dark–haired man to laugh harder, and judging by the non-too-subtle smirk that Monica was sporting, she heard it too.

Suddenly, part of a conversation from yesterday popped back to the forefront of her mind, prompting Melissa to ask.

"Jack, you were going to say which unit you were serving with?" she asked.

Slightly caught off guard by her question, Jack only nodded. "Oh yeah, I was going to tell you when I leave right?"

Melissa only nodded, fervently wishing he wouldn't have to go and the things he had suspected wouldn't come true.

Jack smiled warmly at her, kissing her one final time on the lips before pivoting on his heels and opened the door. As he was about to walk out, he turned to look back over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

"If anyone asks," He began. "Call for ' _Garuda'_."

Without waiting for a reply, Jack, or rather Talisman stepped out the door into the dark, cold night.

Melissa could only hug herself, with Monica hugging her friend in support as they both watched the man got on his bike and drive off into the night.

* * *

"I'm all set mom!" Matilda called, "Here we go!"

Melissa could only shake her head in amusement at her daughter's exuberance. Matilda woke up early to prepare for the trip, already clothed and was slinging a gray backpack onto her shoulders. Jessica was also doing the same, albeit with a neon blue backpack.

Matilda was wearing a purple shirt over a white long-sleeved one, and she topped off her look with a dull green jacket and gray pants. Jessica opted to wear a short sleeved, dull blue shirt and jeans.

The two younger girls found their respective mothers on the front yard of the Herman household, drinking tea and talking while listening to the antique portable radio of Melissa's — she was fond of the thing, since it had belonged to her grandfather.

"Got everything?" Melissa asked, standing as she held out a small hand carry bag filled with lunch boxes for both girls. The mother in her was still beside herself in worry about what was going to happen in the next couple of weeks, and she had already packed getaway bags for both her and Matilda. Monica stood too, going forward to hug her daughter, who returned it with gusto.

Matilda bounded over towards Melissa, a bright smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm okay mom!" she chirped. Then her expression turned a tad sad, which was very unlike her usual bubbly self. "I wish Daddy didn't have to go back to work last night."

Melissa stroked her daughter's short blonde hair affectionately, trying not to think about her husband's ominous words two nights ago. At the moment, all that mattered to her was her daughter.

"I know honey, I too wish he wouldn't go back as well." She said understandingly, "But daddy's a busy man — you know that, and his angels too."

 _That_ brought a giggle out of her daughter.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Matilda finally conceded. "Dancing with the angels…"

Melissa smiled. "Yes, dancing with the angels."

Their tender mother-daughter moment ended with the sound of the school bus stopping in front of their house, the driver looking at them expectantly with the door open. Already, the bus was packed with school children, all of them eager to meet their 'Golden King'.

"Matilda, it's time to go!" Jessica called, already running towards the bus.

"Be careful sweetheart, and listen to your teachers!" Monica said.

"I will!"

Melissa, realizing that it was time for her daughter to go, reached into her pocket and pulled out a single penny, handing it to Matilda who accepted it tenderly. The elder Herman woman smiled.

"An offering," she explained, "to the King."

Matilda laughed, stuffing the coin in her pocket before picking up the small hand-carry bag. Turning around, she spared a parting wave at her mother.

She smiled. "See you later, mom!"

Melissa looked on as she watched Matilda get on the bus, blue eyes barely concealing the fear she was feeling as she forced a smile and called out to her.

"Listen to your teachers!" she had called. "And give the King my best!"

The young girl paused in her steps up the bus, turning around and smiling.

She winked at her mother. "Dance with an angel, mom." she said cheekily.

"I will, yeah." Her mother said with a laugh. "Maybe we'll tango today instead of waltz…"

Matilda laughed before calling out again, this time to the brunette woman next to Melissa. "You too, Mrs. Lampert! Dance with an angel!"

Monica laughed. "I will. Maybe your mom can introduce me to a handsome one." She added off-handedly.

Both Matilda and Jessica made mock disgusted faces, causing all four of them to laugh. After a final wave goodbye, the bus went on his way, moving down the paved road and turning away at an intersection, and out of sight of the two mothers.

Monica sighed, walking back and sitting back down heavily on the metal chair beside the small garden table, with Melissa joining a while later. The two friends sat in silence; the only accompanying noise was the song _'A Brand New Day'_ playing on Melissa's radio while quietly sipping their tea, before Monica finally broke it with a heavy sigh.

Melissa looked up at the other woman in concern, reaching out to put a hand on the brunette's arm, squeezing it.

Monica shook her head. "It's the first time my little Jess left my side to go on a field trip today…" she confessed. "Most of the time when she wasn't by my side, it would only last for a few minutes — an hour at most…" she looked up at Melissa then. "How do you…?"

Melissa already knew the answer to her unasked question. It was one of the things she kept and asking and telling herself everyday ever since she had allowed Matilda to go to the nearby neighborhood park on her own since she was 8 — with Jack's supervision but without Melissa. It was painful for the first few months, but she had to learn to let go.

"I ask myself that question every day," Melissa said quietly. "and came back to the same answer my husband gave me when I asked him: I had to learn to let go."

She took a breath, letting it out before speaking again. "It was hard at first, not being by Matilda's side to keep her safe, even when Jack was with her. But, over time… I started coming around, trusting my daughter to always come home for me, and have more faith in my husband."

"The point is, our children are growing up, and we have to accept that we won't be by their side forever." she explained. "That was why Jack asked me to learn to let her go — slowly but surely."

After hearing Melissa's reasoning, Monica quietly pondered it, before sighing in acceptance. Nodding to herself, she smiled up at the blonde woman.

"You're right…" she said, "But still… it's hard."

"I know Mia…" Melissa replied sympathetically, "I know."

They didn't how much time had passed after they had sent off their respective daughters, but a quick check of Melissa's wristwatch told them it had only been an hour at most.

Staring off in the direction of the King's Bridge, both Melissa and Monica could faintly make out the moving dark shapes of vehicles going to and fro Gracemeria's new and old district via the bridge. The brunette of the two could already imagine her daughter, vibrating excitedly in the bus on their way to the old district on the bridge.

There was a small, serene pause as the song on the radio ended and the DJ came on. The two friends were about to quietly enjoy their lovely sunny day and wait for their daughters to come home when something neither of the women expected happened.

For Melissa, it was as if a terrible nightmare had come true — the anxiety, the disbelief, the raw feeling of _fear_ filled her very veins as their afternoon silence was interrupted by two very loud screeching _booms_.

Whipping their heads around to see what caused the _inhuman_ sounds, the two women watched in growing trepidation as two unknown fighter planes screamed past over their heads, heading towards the King's Bridge.

Their trepidation quickly morphed into shocked horror when one of the planes _fired_ a _missile_ at the bridge!

The resulting explosion of fire and light, even at this distance, was blinding to the two women as they watched a part of the once mighty bridge collapse under the strain — loud, screeching metallic groans echoed through the shocked silence. They were simply too shocked to comprehend what was happening before them, how their once majestic bridge was turned into a twisted heap of metal in a blink of an eye.

For Melissa, it only meant one thing — her daughter was on that bridge…

"Oh gods, no…" she breathed, dropping to her knees, tears already falling from her eyes. "No… MATILDA!"

She could vaguely make out another anguished cry which sounded very much like Monica, no doubt calling out for her own daughter. She could hardly think, hardly breathe or even move, as if her whole world was crashing down around her. Her husband's words from last night came back to her, the horrifying realization hitting her like a freight train.

She could keep her promise to her beloved Jack — she _couldn't_ protect their daughter.

And now, with the air attacks going on around the capital, it was only a matter of time before Jack was called into action. That thought alone sent another wave of anxiety rushing through her — her husband was going to war.

And he may _never_ come back.

Melissa was abruptly brought crashing back to reality when a firm shake shook her frame. Turning slightly dazed eyes towards Monica, whose brown eyes were still raw with pain and sadness, something clicked into place in her. Even if her daughter might be dead, but she and Monica were here now, and they were alive to do _something_.

And that something was fleeing the capital — no matter how painful a decision it may be — just what her husband would've wanted.

"Mel…" Monica's cracking voice called out, "We've got to go… we can't stay here any longer."

There was a short pause.

"You're right…" Melissa began quietly. "We can't stay here… and I'm… I'm…" she choked out, before Monica wrapped her up in a fierce hug.

"Don't say you're sorry — Matilda was there too…" Monica said, before pulling away. "R-Right now, we need to go."

Melissa only nodded, her mind too muddled up to even speak at the moment, her mind still couldn't comprehend the events that were happening around her. She could only pray for one thing that was a sure certainty for her — her husband's safe return.

 ** _~ AC: TAE ~_**

 **And we are done!**

 **Hello, my favorite people in the world! And welcome to my attempt at an Ace Combat Novelization, this one on** ** _Ace Combat 6: Fires of Liberation._** **The idea came to me when I was reading another Ace Combat FanFic,** _The Ultimate Ace, by WingedFreedom622_ _ **.**_ **I figured that, well, with AC6's mediocre storytelling and crap-worthy FMVs, I decided to give writing a novelization of this a start. It's not perfect, but I'm improving seeing as I don't like multiple POVs like what it was done with** _Tiberium Wars by Peptuck_ **. I'm not** ** _that_** **good yet. Well… maybe I can try?**

 **Well, here's to a new story to go along with my Destiny Rebirth: A Naruto story!**

 **Cheers mates!**

 **This is HEIROFROHAN signing off,**

 **PEACE!**


	2. Chapter One: Invasion of Gracemeria

**_Foreword_** _:_ I don't own the _Ace Combat_ series. All of them are owned by Bandai Namco and Project Aces. The only characters I own are my OCs.

Have fun reading!

* * *

 ** _Ace Combat: The Angels of Emmeria_**

* * *

 _"_ _The reason angels can fly is because they take themselves lightly."_

 _\- G.K. Chesterton_

* * *

 ** _Chapter One: The Invasion of Gracemeria_**

* * *

Things were quiet at Gracemeria Air Force Base, and Jack couldn't help but be antsy and worried.

All of Emmeria's fighting capable forces were recalled, including his own 28th Fighter Squadron of the 8th Air Division, which was attached to Republic of Emmeria Air Force's (REAF) Eastern Region Air Defense, which currently comprised of only one member: Jack himself.

After reaching the rank of Captain over a year ago, Jack was given command of his own squadron after serving for over three years with the 3rd Fighter Squadron based out of Khesed Island in the far west. He could still remember the day when he outflew 3rd's squadron commander, who was a veteran of several border skirmishes with Estovakia, in a mock dogfight. When he was back on the ground again, the squadron leader — a man known only by the name Hartington — only looked in his direction, nodded once a ghost of a smile on his face and walked off.

He was promoted and transferred the very next day.

Along with his own admittedly new squadron, there was also the 15th Fighter Squadron commanded by Commander Daniel "Windhover" Pollini, along with his wingmen Sarah "Lanner" Bones and John "Saker" Ahab, also part of 8th Division.

Another squadron, this time part of the Emmerian Navy's 2nd Carrier Air Wing, 2nd Strike Fighter Squadron, was commanded by a Captain Freddie "Avalanche" Durand along with wingmen Albert "Blizzard" Clougherty and Roger "Serac" Kenworth, were also stationed at Gracemeria AFB while their home carrier — the RES* _Indomitable_ — was undergoing refit back at Khesed Island Naval Base.

There were also other fighter squadrons that were recalled, but Jack hadn't paid much attention to the roster, since he had only worked with Windhover and Avalanche squadrons in the past.

He looked at his wristwatch, taking note of the date and time of the day.

Jack sighed to himself, frustrated with the turn of events these past few months that prevented him from taking his daughter to the National Museum for a school trip today. August 30 was already marked on his calendar even _before_ he went off to participate in wargames with the Kingdom of Nordennavic.

He cursed the new government of Estovakia for the hundredth time since coming back home.

Jack was currently in the crew lounge area of the base, reading a random magazine when his musings were interrupted at first by the rapid shuffling of frantic footsteps, followed by the base's air raid siren going off, the revolving lights along the corridors blaring an angry red at anyone who saw them.

Jack knew perfectly well what that meant. REAF doctrine didn't encourage random drills without notifying the pilots involved, which only left one outcome — an attack.

Getting to his feet, Jack sprinted towards the crew locker rooms, silently praying for his family's safety. Stepping into the room, he made his way through the crowd of pilots who were in the process of frantically pulling on their drab grey flight suits, asking all the while the questions that were on everyone's minds:

"What's going on?!" a pilot from one of the REAF's reserve squadrons, who hadn't even clocked more than a few dozen hours in the air, asked.

"Is it an attack?!" another asked.

"Who cares? Get to your planes, on the double!" a gruff voice cut through the loud, confused chatter, prompting the pilots to do what they were told.

Stepping in front of his locker, Jack pulled it opened, immediately going through the well-honed process of strapping on his flight suit and Beretta M9 sidearm, holstering it in the flight suit's holster as he did. Zipping the suit up with a flourish, he then pulled on his black combat boots, combat knife and proceeded to run out the room and into the adjoining hangar area.

All around him, countless technicians, maintenance crews and pilots were scrambling about their assigned planes, ranging from F-16C Fighting Falcons, F/A-18 Hornets and its upgraded relative the Super Hornet, and Mirage 2000-5s. Jack had long learned to tune out the veritable cacophony of noise from whirring turbine engines and loud orders being issued — he was used to the sounds after years of working with the Air Force.

As he was making his way across the large hangar, a voice in the PA system crackled to life.

" _Attention all pilots!"_ the voice of Colonel Bradford Paul, the Eastern Region Air Defense commander, boomed from the ceiling mounted speakers. " _Our capital city, Gracemeria, is under attack by unknown aircraft! Damage from the attacks is widespread throughout the city._ "

Jack felt his insides turn to ice, rage filling his conscience as he picked up his pace towards his assigned aircraft.

Sometimes, he thought to himself, it pays to have friends in the Intelligence community, but the foreknowledge doesn't necessarily soften the blow when the news hit full force. The dark haired man was almost certain that the unknown aircraft attacking Gracemeria — his _home_ — were Estovakian in origin.

The Stovies have a **lot** to pay for.

" _All planes, scramble and intercept all threats immediately!_ "

Jack finally reached his own plane, an F-16C Fighting Falcon painted in Emmerian gray-blue along with his squadron insignia stenciled onto its fuselage and tailfin — a white bird-emblem. There was also another addition, this one he painted it on his own — a woman painted on the nose of his plane, with the words 'Melissa' stenciled beside it.

Giving a thankful nod to the ground crew servicing his 'angel', he quickly climbed up the ladder and into the open cockpit, strapping himself in and falling into a well-honed ritual of initiating preflight checks and the startup sequence for the plane he had worked with for the better part of his career since flight school.

Finishing the startup, the familiar whine of the Falcon's Pratt & Whitney F100 engine was soothing to his ears as Jack skillfully brought his bird to taxi onto the main runway. Alongside him on the left and right respectively were an F/A-18 Hornet and another Falcon, also taxiing to prepare for takeoff.

Tapping into his onboard radio, Jack could hear the confused mutterings and exclamations of his fellow pilots, and occasionally intercepted enemy communications as well as Gracemeria's own radio station, all of them forming a rough image of what was happening in Gracemeria…

 _"_ _They took out King's Bridge!"_ came the first clear transmission, making Jack boil with anger.

 _His_ _ **daughter**_ _was supposed to be_ _ **on**_ _the bridge_ _ **today**_ _!_

 _'_ _Now you've done it.'_ He thought darkly in suppressed anger, hands dancing over the hands-on-throttle-and-stick (HOTAS) of his plane.

If King's Bridge was out, then there was no telling if his daughter survived. Pushing the thoughts of his could-be-dead daughter aside, Jack channeled his anger into focusing on his flying — and killing Stovies.

" _Who's attacking?!"_ came another voice.

 _"_ _What the hell is going on?!"_

 _"_ _Control, get those planes up fast!"_

" _Roger that_ , _preparing for takeoff."_

As Jack continued to taxi onto the runway, aligning his plane with the lines on the tarmac road, he continued to hear the reports coming in from Gracemeria's defenders, which were becoming bleaker and bleaker by the minute.

 _"_ _I want a damage assessment, now!"_ a male voice said, presumably part of the ground forces.

Another voice answered it, this time it was a bit frantic. " _We've taken extensive damage from those bombers and piling up on civilian casualties!"_

"Jesus…" Jack breathed, horrified that the enemy was using _bombers_ of all god-forsaken things to attack a heavily populated _city!_ "Those bastards…"

He continued to suppress his rage however, channeling the energy and drive to focus on the mission. Tuning out all the other reports, Jack did a last minute check on his systems before keying his radio.

"Tower, this is Garuda 1. Requesting permission for takeoff." He said into the mike, activating and calibrating his heads-up-display (HUD) while he was at it.

There was a small pause with only the muffled sounds of the turbofans piercing through his senses before he got a response.

" _Garuda 1, you are cleared for takeoff."_

"Roger Tower, Garuda 1 taking off!" Jack called, pushing the throttle to full afterburner. Yanking back on the stick, he felt his entire body flatten against his seat as the nimble fighter accelerated down the runway, before finally leaping into the air and into the clear blue sky, his fellow pilots beside him doing the same.

Once he was in the air, he climbed up to just several thousand feet below the clouds before levelling out and banking away in the direction of the capital. He felt a sense of sheer _joy_ at once again being able to fly, and this time doing what he had enlisted for in the first place — to protect.

 _"_ _Garuda 1 liftoff,"_ the ground controller called on the wide-range waveband. " _Cerberus Team runway clearance granted_ — _takeoff when ready. All aircraft under airborne command's jurisdiction following takeoff. This is not a drill; I repeat this is_ _ **not**_ _a drill!_

Clicking his mike, Jack pushed his jet forward, afterburners howling behind him as he sped across the sky towards the designated rendezvous coordinates indicated on his HUD. All around him, the Emmerian Air Force was going in enmassed towards Gracemeria. After all, it was their _capital_ that was under siege. Countless jets were flying in formation the closer he got to the center of the combined air fleet.

" _Airborne Warning and Command System Ghost Eye to all scrambling defense craft._ " Bradford's voice called over the defense-net, callsign 'Ghost Eye'. " _The situation has_ _ **not**_ _yet been ascertained. We must implement an emergency reformation. Follow your individual instructions…"_

As Ghost Eye went about assigning individual planes into new squadrons, Jack continued to keep an eye on the long-range radar, seeing the green blips of enemy planes over the city and the blue blips of friendly planes all around him, racing towards the besieged city.

Taking in the situation, he noticed that there was a small Emmerian Naval Defense Fleet stationed in Gracemeria Bay, getting their hides pounded out of them by the attacking aircraft. Along with the fleet were scattered Emmerian Army units; most notable was the Grobda Tank Company in the city's east district, engaging what seemed to be enemy ground forces attacking the city.

 _"_ _Garuda 1, this is AWACS Ghost Eye, do you copy?"_ Ghost Eyes called over.

Snapping out of his valuation, Jack clicked his radio. "Copy, Ghost Eye. I read you five-by-five."

There was a small rush of static before Ghost Eye spoke once more. _"I've been told that your squadron's new, and you do not have a wingman."_ He said, making Jack roll his eyes in exasperation. Wasn't that fact obvious enough? _"Let's see here… Shamrock. Shamrock, are you alone too? Very well, as of now you're Garuda 2."_

 _"_ _Okay."_ A younger male voice called over the radio.

Looking over his shoulder, Jack could clearly see another Falcon pulling up beside him, the pilot — Shamrock, apparently — was waving at him in greeting, prompting him to wave back. He only vaguely remembered the young man no older than Jack himself with the TAC name Shamrock, but he had forgotten the man's real name… Marco? Mack? Marcus…? Yeah, that's the one. Marcus.

 _"_ _So I'm Garuda 2,"_ Shamrock said over the comm. " _Garuda 1, I've got your back."_

"Good to have you Shamrock," Jack said, relief evident in his tone. "For a while there I thought I was gonna go in there without a wingman — very bad idea if I do say so myself."

Shamrock laughed over the comm. " _I hear you. I've only finished flight school over three months ago, so I'm still learning the ropes."_ He confessed.

Jack chuckled. "Don't worry, I don't have much experience myself either." He reassured, sounding more confident than he was feeling. "Our best bet to stay alive is to watch each other's back, so stay on my wing Shamrock. The name's Talisman, by the way."

 _"_ _Roger, Talisman. Good to meet you. I'll be on your wing at all times."_ Shamrock replied. _"No time for introductions now, though. Go ahead, and I'll follow your lead. Never was good with directions anyhow…"_

Jack laughed once more, trying to relax his tense nerves before diving into the fray. "Roger that, Garuda 2."

He looked ahead, his HUD automatically differentiating the IFFs of friendly and hostile combatants, tagging them on his sensors and identifying them. With a slight touch on his HOTAS, he switched from his default AIM-9L Sidewinders to the AIM-120C Advanced Medium Range Anti Air Missiles (AMRAAM).

In addition to the unknown planes (Estovakians in Jack's mind), the skylines of Gracemeria were filled with choking plumes of black smoke billowing out from multiple areas. Chunks of buildings were blown off, debris were lying on the once beautiful street and the King's Bridge… it had collapsed. The symbol of Emmerian pride and wealth, was gone…

It was sorry sight, one which inspired anger and determination in the pilots rather than the despair the enemy were hoping for.

" _Garuda Team,"_ Jack was brought back to reality by Ghost Eye's call, and he housed his morbid thoughts for the time being. For now, it was hunting time. " _You are authorized to engage any hostile aircraft above Gracemeria."_

Jack only clicked his mike as Shamrock replied. " _Roger that."_

Yanking his stick to the left, Jack rolled his fighter into a smooth roll as he made his descent, the city limits coming up at him fast. A quick look to his right confirmed that Shamrock had indeed stuck to his wing, only separating from his right wing by under a hundred meters more or less.

 _'_ _Not bad for a rookie pilot.'_ Jack thought with a grin. He couldn't have asked for a better new squadron member.

" _May the Golden King smile upon us."_ Shamrock said over the radio.

Jack smiled grimly. "And protect us too."

 _"_ _Yeah, that too."_

Reading off the information from his HUD, he immediately tagged four bogeys directly in front of him, in perfect range for his AMRAAMs. Lining up his shot, he waited for the onboard computer to make the calculations as he locked on with the radar. Around him, his fellow pilots were also on the attack, diving into the battle like angry bats out of hell.

"Shamrock, I've got an echo off the four bandits at my 12." He called. "Take the other four at 2 o'clock — I'm marking them on your HUD." He said, marking them by looking at his intended targets, blinking twice. Several markers appeared on their IFF symbols.

A few second of silence passed before a reply came. " _Roger, I've got tone on the four bandits_ — _looks like F-14s."_

"Sure looks that way." Jack replied, before the alert to fire blared from his HUD. "Let's get this party started — Talisman, Fox 3!"

Four AMRAAMs broke away from his Falcon's underbelly before rocketing away; Shamrock's call followed by another four missiles streaking off into the distance confirmed his attack as well. They waited for a few moments before eight large explosions of fire and light signaled that the missiles struck their targets.

"Garuda 1, splashed four bandits!" Jack called, immediately banking away to the right to avoid a hailstorm of bullets and missiles from another flight of F-14Ds, Shamrock following his turn to the letter.

 _"_ _Garuda 2 here; I've bagged four kills!"_ Shamrock said immediately after.

"Good job, Shamrock!" Jack said, before an alert blared in his cockpit. "Damn it, I'm spiked! Shamrock, see anyone?"

 _"_ _Talisman, you've got bandit on your tail!"_ Shamrock called not a moment after. " _It's one of the Tomcats from before!"_

Craning his head around his ejection seat, Jack could clearly see one of the F-14s from the flight before lining up for a missile shot. Ordering Shamrock to break formation, he yanked his stick hard to the right, feeling the g-forces slamming into his body and into his seat as he made his jet bank sharply to the right to break the lock. Instinct told him the enemy pilot was following his turn.

Already knowing that his F-16C was more maneuverable than the bulky F-14, Jack maintained his turn while punching his afterburners, increasing his angular velocity before abruptly cutting power to his thrusters and applied the airbrakes and yanked back hard on his stick, pulling the nose of the jet sharply upwards — along with a massive amount of g's — and in line-of-sight of the other, more cumbersome F-14.

The hunter had become the hunted.

Realizing that the other jet had turned the tables on him, the other pilot tried to reverse his turn and dive downwards in order to break away from Jack's sights, utilizing the Tomcat's heavier weight to its advantage, but it was for naught.

Switching to guns, Jack didn't hesitate as he pulled the trigger once the pipper was over the target, shredding the other plane which exploded in a plume of fire. Levelling out his turn, Jack immediately sought out his wingman, who he found was busy engaging in a dizzying display of Rolling Scissors with two F-14s. Further examination of his HUD confirmed the last of the four plane flight of Tomcats had been downed by ground fire.

"Shamrock, stop your roll and break right in my direction! Spoof them!" Jack ordered, already switching to heat-seekers on his HOTAS.

 _"_ _Got it!"_

Ramming his throttle to full afterburner, Jack closed on his beleaguered wingman who had deployed flares and had turned in his way, and once he was close enough for a lock, he didn't pause once the computer got a good tone. "Garuda 1, Fox 2!" he called as a pair of AIM-9L Sidewinders lanced out, the drivers of the Tomcats had no time to react as the missiles struck their cockpits, killing them instantly.

 _"_ _Alright! Garuda 1 splashed two bandits!"_ Shamrock crowed. " _Thanks Talisman."_

"Anytime," Jack replied, before another alert flashed through his HUD, making him groan in annoyance. "Ah, hell… Garuda 1 here, I'm spiked again. Who the hell did that?!"

 _"_ _Don't worry, I got 'em."_

Jack watched as his wingman came at him head on before half-rolling and flying inverted over his Falcon and he swore they were in touching distance of each other's cockpits, his wingman's guns blazing all the while, and before long the alert vanished.

" _Shamrock here, I've bagged a kill!"_

Jack sighed, chuckling with a grin behind his oxygen mask. "Thanks Shamrock, I guess I owe you one."

" _Let's call it even, since you bailed me out from those two jokers."_

"Copy that."

Just then, as they were scanning the area for more targets, their radios squawked.

 _"_ _Ghost Eye to Garuda 1, Talisman, and Garuda 2, Shamrock,"_ The voice of their AWACS called.

Jack keyed his mike. "Garuda 1 here, reading you loud and clear."

" _We're currently in a state of emergency. Our nation is under attack by unknown forces."_ Ghost Eyes reported, _"Do whatever you can to fend off the invasion."_

 _"_ _Garuda 2, roger that. Garuda 1, you call the shots."_ Shamrock called, wagging his wings to get Jack's attention.

"Copy, Garuda 2." Jack said highlighting a flight of B-52 bombers. "A flight of four bombers over the southern district — take them out, but use guns only. Don't want to waste any missiles on those Big Ugly Fat Fuckers."

Shamrock's chuckle, which sounded like a small hiss of static, came over. " _Roger. Garuda 2, guns, guns, guns!"_

"Garuda 1, guns, guns, guns!" Jack yelled, letting it rip with the M61 Vulcan cannon with a loud ' _brrrrrrrrrr'_ , a single tongue of flame flaring out of his left wing root, all the while dodging the return fire from the B-52's tail gunners. Between Garuda Team and a hail of high-velocity 20mm bullets, the slow moving bombers stood no chance.

 _"_ _Talisman, there's another flight of bombers, over in the east district!"_ Shamrock reported.

Instantly craning his neck to the east, Jack quickly saw what his wingman saw. "Roger that, Shamrock. Engage at will — I'll fly top cover." He said, pulling up and gaining altitude, enough to cover Garuda 2.

 _"_ _Roger, Shamrock engaging."_

He watched as Shamrock dived into the four plane bomber flight, the telltale signs of the F-16's gun firing were visible with small flashes from the plane's left wing, along with the explosions from the lumbering bombers. Instinct told Jack to look in the direction of the north, and trusting his instincts since it hadn't failed him as of yet, Jack turned to look and sure enough, a single enemy F/A-18 Hornet was lining up for a missile shot on his wingman.

"Oh no you don't!" Jack said, peeling his jet to the left before reversing his turn and diving down on the unsuspecting Hornet, drawing a lead on the opposing aircraft. A short burst from his cannons did the job with volatile results.

 _"_ _This is Commander Windhover of the 15_ _th_ _Squadron."_ Windhover called over the defense-net. " _The enemy is expanding its field of attack. Stay alert."_

"Roger Windhover," Jack said. "We'll keep our heads on a swivel."

An alert on his HUD caused him to turn his head to look behind him, only to see a pair of F-16s coming up behind him. Fast.

"Shamrock, two bandits at my 6 o'clock." He said calmly. "What's say we go old school on these jokers?"

 _"_ _What do you have in mind?"_ Shamrock asked.

"Ever heard of the ' _Thach_ _Weave'_?" Jack asked with a grin.

A moment of silence before, " _You break right and lead, I'll break left and follow."_

Jack didn't need to be told twice.

Throttling his afterburners, he pulled a hard right, slamming a whopping 8 g's on his body as he strained his nimble Falcon to its limits, pulling back just enough to allow him to make sure his pursuers were taking the bait — which they did — before pulling a hard left, forcing his pursuers to match his pace in order to get a good lock, or better yet a good deflection shot. He continued this maneuver a few more times, weaving back and forth while forcing his pursuers to make and break a lock on him multiple times, frustrating them to the point where they forgot Jack's wingman was behind them.

 _"_ _Shamrock, I've got a lock!"_ his wingman's welcome voice sounded. " _Fox 2!"_

A moment and a satisfying 'boom' later, Jack saw the other F-16 trying to make a run for it as he turned back towards his wingman, and the other pilot made the mistake of trying to bank _away_ from Garuda 2 —

— and into his gun sights.

A squeeze of the trigger and short burst of 20mm slugs later, it was over.

 _"_ _Talisman splashed an enemy!"_ Shamrock crowed. " _Great shot, Garuda 1!"_

Jack nodded although the other pilot couldn't see him. "You too, Shamrock." He said before changing to the command frequency. "Ghost Eye, this is Garuda 1. How are we looking on those bombers?"

" _It looks like there are only a few bombers left_ — _you've cleaned them out of the southern and eastern districts."_ Ghost Eye reported, making Jack smile. Some good news at least. " _Got a negative IFF squawk off the last group… they're over Gracemeria Air Force Base!"_

Jack's blood ran cold as he heard the last transmission. They was _no way_ they were going to make it in time to protect the base. His thoughts were confirmed when one of the air traffic controllers radioed in.

 _"_ _Our runway's been bombed to hell!"_ he said. _"It's totally useless now!"_

"Damn them… they're too well-coordinated…" Jack breathed before keying his mike again. "Ghost Eye, how goes the ID'ing?" he asked.

 _"_ _We've almost got them. I'll let you know when we get it, Ghost Eye out."_

"Roger, Ghost Eye." Jack said before changing back to the defense-net. "Shamrock, we've got our work cut out for us. We're heading east and helping out our boys on the ground there."

 _"_ _Roger, Talisman. I'll follow your lead."_

Turning his plane in the correct heading, Jack immediately rammed his throttle into the afterburner, pushing well over Mach 1 as he and Shamrock screamed across the battlefield, where the skies over Gracemeria were choked with multiple aircraft from both sides engaging in a deadly dance of speed and mobility. The occasional call of missiles being fired and fired at in return filled their radios, both from their allies and intercepted enemy communications.

An alert on his HUD snapped him back into reality, the information being labelled there made his blood freeze.

"Shamrock, this is Garuda 1." Jack intoned quietly. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

A moment of silence before his wingman replied, " _No way… are those airborne_ MBTs?!"

"Sure looks like it…" Jack said grimly before switching to guns. "Shoot the parachutes — not even a 30 ton tank can survive a thousand foot dead drop!"

 _"_ _Roger!"_

Right in front of them, almost two and a half miles away, were a dozen or so Main Battle Tanks being air dropped by C-17 cargo planes with enlarged parachutes to compensate for the extra weight. They would be a menace to Emmeria's ground forces when they made touchdown… but they were as defenseless as a moving target on a firing range while airborne.

And Garuda Team dealt with them with _extreme_ prejudice, shooting the parachutes and letting the unlucky tanks drop to their doom.

Turning back towards their city where the main fighting was taking place, their radios were broadcasting the frantic calls for support across the whole battlefield. The jumble of noise and static were so confusing that both Talisman and Shamrock had to tune out a few before several became clearer.

 _"_ _All ships to terminate enemy forces over the bay."_ The voice of an obvious sailor said. " _Get those anti-air guns ready for battle!"_

Checking the status of his weapons, Jack called. "Shamrock, how's your ammo lookin'?"

 _"_ _I've got four AMRAAMs and six heat-seekers, along with half the gun."_ Shamrock said, listing down the ammo he had left. _"And you?"_

Checking his weapons once again, he nodded. "AMRAAMs and Sidewinders. Four of each left plus more than half the gun as well."

 _"_ _Do you think it will be enough to last us through the battle?"_ Shamrock asked.

"We can only hope…"

As they circled the northern district, picking off stray enemy UH-9 Huey helicopters and several airborne tanks still in the air, their radios squawked once more, this time the voice of Gracemeria FM's DJ on the airwaves.

" _We interrupt this program for an emergency news report,"_ he said. " _Gracemeria is currently under attack by unidentified aircraft… The damage apparently extends throughout the entire capital."_

As Jack singled out an F-14 and was currently baiting the other pilot into a turning battle, utilizing the Falcon's superior mobility and thrust-to-weight ratio to gain a bead on his opponent, he could unmistakably hear a soft murmur through the radio from his wingman…

 _"_ _Please be safe…"_

Jack would've contemplated on the other man's words but he quickly shelved that thought for a brief moment, pulling a lead on the Tomcat before letting out a stream of 20mm bullets once the pipper was over the other plane, ripping it to shreds. Leveling out, he took a deep breath, before letting it out, the fatigue of the grueling air battle was starting to get to him.

As his senses kept track on the chaos around him, he silently pondered the other man's words. His words clearly showed Jack that he had family somewhere down below… and so did he. Shamrock's words inadvertently brought out a tidal wave of emotions: anxiety, fear, anger and sadness just to name a few when he thought about his beautiful wife and precious daughter. He didn't know what happened to them when the first wave hit Gracemeria, and he absolutely didn't want to think about how his daughter was on King's Bridge when it collapsed.

Jack shook his head to clear the melancholy thoughts. He had enough on his plate at the moment, which was defending his beloved city.

 _"_ _We've got an ID on the invaders."_ Ghost Eye suddenly said over the comm. and one could hear a pin drop over the network when every pilot in the REAF strained to hear and put a face and name on their attackers. " _We're engaged with the Estovakian military."_

 _"_ _The Estovakians?!"_ Windhover breathed out, disbelief clear in his tone.

Another voice, this one the voice of Avalanche, cut through the resulting chatter. " _Their economy's been in shambles for years. Looks like they finally snapped."_

"Agreed, Avalanche," Jack said grimly, not surprised in the slightest. "So why don't we go and give them a proper Emmerian welcome?"

A grim chuckle answered him. _"Copy that, Garuda 1."_

Checking his radar to locate Avalanche's position to the north, Jack turned his plane in the proper direction, prompting Shamrock to do the same before he lit his burners again, the nimble Falcon's turbofan engine propelling him across the sky.

An alert on his radar made him look at his HUD. "Shamrock, tallyho on four bandits, 11 o'clock low and flying above the apartments — looks like Mirage 2000s."

 _"_ _Copy on your last, Talisman."_ Shamrock called, " _I've got a lock on the rightmost two_ — _Talisman, could you get the other two?"_

"Gladly," Jack grinned, rolling over and diving and drawing lead straight at the unsuspecting flight of four Mirages, fingers tight on the trigger, having already switched to guns in order to conserve his missiles.

 _"_ _Shamrock, Fox 2!"_ he called, two heat-seekers lancing out from his jet.

The rightmost two planes in the formation finally jinked and weaved, no doubt missile alerts were blaring at them in their cockpits as they desperately tried to break the semi-active infrared homing of the Sidewinders. The other two planes only had seconds to see what's happening to their fellows before a Falcon was dropped in behind them, nose perfectly aligned with their own aircraft.

Jack glared through his visor at the two planes. "Garuda 1 in gun range, engaging!" he said and depressed the trigger, ripping the first Mirage into shreds. The other plane tried to pull away, its pilot banking hard to the left, but Jack skillfully glued himself to his tail, easily putting the pipper over the other plane and let it rip with his Vulcan.

After a fiery display of light and heat later, Jack had realigned himself and was burning towards the north, Shamrock following suit after dealing with his own two planes. They didn't have to wait long for more enemies, as a flight of C-17 cargo planes dropped another batch of airborne tanks.

Jack immediately clicked his radio. "Avalanche, this is Talisman. Be advised, more enemy airborne tanks inbound from the north — we're engaging them now." He reported.

 _"_ _Roger, Talisman,"_ Avalanche replied, " _We'll help you out. We're coming in from your 3 o'clock, Avalanche engaging!"_

And sure enough, as Jack looked to his 3 o'clock, a flight of F/A-18 Hornets of Avalanche Squadron came barreling down on their assigned targets. Another voice called out, " _Serac, engaging!"_

 _"_ _Blizzard, engaging!"_ a third voice called.

"Garuda 1 copies all," Jack said, switching to guns as he did. "Talisman, engaging!"

 _"_ _Shamrock, engaging!"_

Between the two Emmerian squadrons, parachuting tanks and a whole lot of bullets, the Estovakian tanks stood no chance as they quickly fell under the ruthless onslaught of the REAF's counterattack. Once done, Talisman turned about and went straight after the flight of fleeing C-17s, afterburners howling as he methodically gunned down the cargo planes with short, well-timed bursts of his cannon to their engines, igniting and exploding them, causing the lumbering giants to fall to the earth.

 _"_ _Nice work!"_ Avalanche crowed in excitement. " _Take care of as many of those tanks as you can while they're in the air. It's like shootin' fish in a barrel!"_

Jack laughed at the joke. "Well it ain't that satisfying when they're just like the target practices back down at the range, y'know?" he said dryly.

 _"_ _True, but it's still satisfying to know that those are Stovies we're shootin' up."_

"Copy that, Avalanche."

Avalanche laughed over the radio, his voice breaking up in loud static through his laughter. " _Looks like the Stovies are runnin' out of steam_ — _had enough, boys?"_ Jack rolled his jet slightly so that he could clearly see the ground war taking place in the north district, with Emmeria's ground forces seemingly gaining the upper hand.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't put it past the Stovies to have _some_ kind of trick up their sleeves…" Jack muttered, his instincts screaming at him that Estovakian military hadn't been fully brought to bear on Emmeria. These attacks seemed like probing attacks, aimed at testing their response and defenses. Every attack was repulsed easily enough, but it was starting to get _too_ easy…

Just what was Estovakia playing at?

Whatever it was, Jack thought silently, it _cannot_ be good.

Checking the readouts on his HUD, Jack radioed his wing mates. "This is Garuda 1 to Avalanche — we're done in this sector, and we're moving on to the east district to help out our boys there." He said.

" _Roger that Garuda 1, good huntin', Avalanche out."_

"Let's get to it, Shamrock." Jack said, "The sooner we destroy the Stovies, the sooner we can all go home."

Shamrock clicked his mike. " _I couldn't agree more. Lead the way Talisman!"_

Turning towards the east, where the heaviest fighting could be seen even from the air, Garuda Team swooped down on the Estovakian troops, strafing them with cannon fire that broke up multiple attacks and causing them to waver.

 _"_ _So those bastards think they can barge into someone's house without even calling first?!"_ Windhover said over the net, his sarcastic undertone clear even through the radio.

Jack could imagine Shamrock shaking his head as he replied, " _Unbelievable! I say we teach 'em a few manners before we kick 'em out!"_ he said.

Jack only chuckled. "Here, here!"

He suddenly whipped his head around when an alert on his radar notified him of a new flight of bogeys, and it was confirmed when he saw the last flight of B-52 bombers barreling down on the ground troops.

"Shamrock, bombers at 9 o'clock low!" Jack nearly yelled as he dodged stray gunfire from the ground, "Don't let them get any closer to our boys!"

Shamrock only clicked his mike as the two of them ripped through the last enemy bomber formation, their cries for help on the radio drowned out by fiery explosions that took the crew with them. Whipping his fighter around, Jack looked back at their handiwork. Just then, their radios squawked and the voice of the ground forces commander came through.

 _"_ _Thanks for clearing away those bombers for us!"_ the ground commander said. " _Now it's our turn! Grobda Tank Company, advance! Keep those airborne troops from moving in!"_

"Glad to be of help!" Jack replied, before he turned his fighter towards the King's Bridge.

He saw his wingman pull up beside him, and a moment later he spoke. " _Looks like we got 'em all Garuda 1_ — _all airborne tanks have been destroyed."_ He reported.

Jack grinned. "Copy that," he said, "Garuda 1 to Ghost Eye, how are things on the ground?"

It took a moment before their AWACS replied. " _We've managed to stave them off so far."_ Jack breathed a sigh of relief at that. _"But we've got to stay on constant alert."_

"Roger that, Garuda 1 out." Jack confirmed, clicking off his radio as he throttled the afterburner.

As the two F-16s burned through the skies over the bridge, their radios kept on receiving reports from both allied and enemy forces, with frantic calls for help going through all the friendly channels. Police in charge of evacuating the civilians were hard pressed to keep their charges alive, while the Emmerian ground units were still standing their ground even when low on ammo.

 _"_ _The Estovakian threat level has been significantly reduced."_ Ghost Eye reported on the wide-range waveband. " _You should be able to hold out against them."_

 _"_ _Garuda 2 roger that."_ Shamrock replied _. "Garuda 1, we've almost got 'em. Let's do this one plane at a time."_

Jack smiled thinly. "Roger, but don't get overeager — just do what you always do."

 _"_ _Copy that."_

Just then, their radars picked up another wave of new contacts — all of them hostile, making tense up in preparation for a major fight.

 _"_ _Garuda Team, watch your necks out there!"_ Ghost Eye ordered sternly as he too had been monitoring the situation, " _Stick with close range targets, and run them down!"_

"Wilco! Talisman, engaging!" Jack yelled, gunning his throttles to the maximum as he power dived into the twelve plane enemy formation, eight F-16s and four Mirage 2000s.

Dropping just behind the formation of Mirages, he skillfully maneuvered his nimble aircraft and opened up with his cannon, the first three Mirages dropping to the earth while the last one tried to break away. Quickly switching to heat-seekers — which he had avoided as to conserve ammunition — he got a decent track before pushing the release button. The missile left his jet's hardpoint and was on its way to kill the unlucky Mirage.

Looking back, Jack saw that his wingman had dealt with one of the four-plane formations, and he was currently in a four-on-one dogfight with the last formation. He then saw a missile lance out of Shamrock's jet, slamming into one of the F-16s he was chasing, but not before another missile came straight at him from the Falcon chasing _him_.

"Shamrock, enemy missile! Break!" Jack called, gunning his afterburners as to catch up to his wingman, who was busy doing barrel rolls and deploying countermeasures to break the missile lock, which he did successfully. Switching once more to Sidewinders, he got a decent tone on the trailing enemy Falcon before yelling, "Garuda 1, Fox 2!"

Letting the heat-seeker do its intended job, he immediately switched to his gun and let out a long, sustained burst which clipped the second Falcon in the wing and the third Falcon by the fuselage. Gunning the throttle, he mostly ignored the crushing g-forces as he accelerated after the last remaining Falcon which was trailing smoke, its fuselage was riddled with bullets — the other Falcon driver whose wing was shredded off had already ejected.

With nowhere else to go, the lone Falcon was a sitting duck to Jack's gun — and a short burst later it was over.

"Garuda 1 splashed one…" Jack breathed, the short but intense dogfight taking a lot out of him. "Shamrock, you okay there buddy?"

He watched as his wingman pulled alongside him, wagging his wings as he did. " _Yeah, I'm okay…"_

Jack grinned. " ** _Now_** you owe me!" he said jokingly.

Shamrock only laughed.

Just then the radio squawked, and Gracemeria FM's DJ's voice reverberated throughout the airwaves.

 _"_ _That's what I like to hear! Our Air Force is holding down the enemy!"_ he said enthusiastically. _"Keep it up!"_

Afterwards, Ghost Eye came on the defense-net; his voice had an undertone of triumph in it.

 _"_ _The Estovakian threat level is even lower now."_ He reported, " _Drive them out of Emmeria."_

Even with such good news, Jack still felt _uneasy_ — his instincts was still _screaming_ at him that this fiasco was _not_ over. Looking around him, he saw multiple Emmerian jets assume Combat Air Patrol patterns above Gracemeria, and several others were either low on ammo or fuel to do any good and were pulling out of the area.

Beside him in his Viper (another name for the F-16), he could hear Shamrock breathe a sigh of relief, but that didn't stop Jack's senses from going overdrive — force of habit when you were a fighter pilot and need naturally good reflexes and senses. All those hours spent in the flight simulators and drilling combat maneuvers whenever he got the chance were well worth it, as he suddenly caught sight of something out of his peripherals…

Or some _things_.

There were seven of them, their profiles glinting in the harsh afternoon sunlight, and were closing in on Gracemeria fast, _very_ fast.

Then, Talisman's fears were confirmed when he spotted the contrails, as he quickly keyed his radio and tuned to the wide-range waveband and literally yelled into his mike.

"Garuda 1 to all planes! Incoming from vector 8-7! Cruise missiles, I repeat, we've got **cruise** **missiles** incoming!"

 ** _~ AC: TAE ~_**

 **Hello there everyone!**

 **Welcome back to another instalment of my first attempt at a novelization of a game… well, count Red Alert 3 out, since that thing is still in the works (for about 4 years), and it still hasn't come out right.**

 **Nothing much to say in this one except that I'm trying to incorporate multiple POVs in this fic, much like how a real war novel would look like. I'll not bore you guys with specifics, but rest assured that I will be** ** _completing_** **this story, along the rest of my other stories. *Cough* Star Trak *Cough*.**

RES* = Republic of Emmeria Ship

 **Cheers mates!**

 **This is HEIROFROHAN signing off,**

 **PEACE!**


	3. Chapter Two: Exodus

**_Foreword_** _:_ I don't own the _Ace Combat_ series. All of them are owned by Bandai Namco and Project Aces. The only characters I own are my OCs.

Have fun reading!

* * *

 ** _Ace Combat: The Angels of Emmeria_**

* * *

 _"_ _Never trade luck for skill."_

 _\- Military quote._

* * *

 ** _Chapter Two: Exodus_**

* * *

It was a remarkably lovely afternoon above the Fuscum Sea, located far to the south of the Republic of Emmeria and several hundred miles off the coast of Gracemeria. In the middle of it was a remarkable collection of holiday resort islands which were part of the Glavda Island chain, with smaller islands such as Binah, Hod, and Kether. They were mainly governed by the resort and tourism corporations and were officially a shared sea border between Emmeria and her neighbor Estovakia.

But, at this moment in time, if one were to look up from their comfy chalets or beach towels on the pristine beaches of Glavda, or were jungle trekking in Binah, surfing in Hod or scuba diving in Kether, they would distantly make out several ominous looking black shapes of _immense_ size hidden within the clouds above the sea.

High above it all, with his hands clasped behind his back, was a man in his late 50s, looking out the viewports in the observation deck. With graying brown hair, sharp brown eyes and a tall and lean physique, he looked every bit a veteran military man at first glance.

Or it might have been the crisp officers' uniform he was wearing, or the fact the medals, ribbons and rank insignias on the uniform itself gave away his commanding presence of a high-ranking military officer. The red and black theme along with the golden hawk symbol of the uniform signified he was an officer from Estovakia.

The man stood, gazing at the endless expanse of the Fuscum Sea with thinly disguised disinterest — and dare some say _boredom_ — while rapping his fingers on his crossed arms' biceps as he waited for word from Gracemeria. _Everything_ depended on the speed and precision in which the capitulation of Emmeria was to be expected in the next two months or so if everything he had planned went according to plan.

And the vessel he was currently in was a major part of his plans, which was why he had specifically ordered the construction of this magnificent vessel he was currently a passenger on when he had proposed the invasion of Emmeria half a year ago.

This vessel alone could _turn_ the tide of the war in their favor _greatly_.

A short rap on the door gained the man's attention, as he spoke, not even bothering to turn around when the aide came in.

"What is it, Nikolai?" he asked calmly.

The aide bowed his head slightly. "Comrade General Dvornik, the captain has sent word that all preparations are complete." He said nervously.

Commander of the Estovakian Expeditionary Forces, Colonel General Gustav Dvornik, merely nodded. " _Da._ Tell the Captain to continue the next phase of the operation, junior sergeant."

" _Da,_ Comrade General. It shall be done!" the aide snapped off a salute before pivoting and running off to carry out the General's orders.

Dvornik rubbed his hands together, standing a bit straighter with a malevolent smile. "Soon, Emmeria, you and your people will be ours for the taking…"

Meanwhile, at the same time on the command bridge of the massive vessel, the captain stood over a readout table, looking over the information, navigation charts and the constant reports flooding in from the frontlines when the aide came rushing in. The captain shook his head — the poor lad had probably ran the whole way from the General's office to the bridge.

Looking up at the panting young sergeant, he waited for the young man to catch his breath before asking, "What's the word from the Comrade General, sergeant?"

The sergeant saluted, "The operation is a go, comrade captain!" he yelled.

The captain nodded, before turning to the rest of the bridge crew. "Begin the operation — tell the good colonel that he can launch his squadron whenever he's ready." He ordered, receiving a chorus of affirmatives in response.

He then turned to another aide standing near a few consoles, "Get me weapons control."

" _Da,_ Comrade Captain!"

After a few moments of working on his console, the technician turned back towards the captain. "I have weapons control on the line, sir!"

"Excellent." The captain said, keying his comm. system. "Weapons control, this is the captain — are we ready yet?" he asked.

 _"_ _We're ready captain!"_ the other man on the line said, _"The Nimbus is ready for launch!"_

"Captain!" another technician called from the front, "Colonel Voychek has informed that he and his squadron has launched and are proceeding towards Gracemeria!"

The captain nodded, satisfied with the reports before turning his attention back towards the comm. system. "Weapons control, I am giving a green light for launch. The operation is a go; I repeat the operation is a go." He ordered.

 _"_ Da, _captain, transferring temporary weapons control to the bridge. Good luck, sir!"_

He nodded to himself, switching off the comm. and turned expectantly towards another one of the bridge crew, this one in charge of the weapons of the vessel. The captain watched as the light for the master control unit for weapons lighted up across the board.

"Captain, we are ready for launch!"

Nodding, the captain keyed in his comm. channel and tuned to the frequency of the 9th Tactical Fighter Squadron, _'Strigon'_ , part of the Estovakian Central Forces. " _Aigaion_ to Strigon Team — we are prepared to launch." He said.

A moment passed before the voice of Colonel Victor Voychek, decorated leader of Strigon Team, replied, _"Strigon Leader to_ Aigaion, _we will commence mission operations once your delivery is complete."_

The captain nodded to himself, steeling himself for what he was about to do. If they were victorious this day, then his actions would go down in history as one of the main contributing factors to their victory. He was feeling giddy just thinking about it.

"Attention all aircraft, we are ready for Nimbus launch." He said over the Estovakian defense-net. "Begin the countdown."

Outside, coming out of the thick cloud cover like a whale bursting out of the sea, came a truly _massive_ aircraft that dwarfed even the mighty Yuktobanian-made Antonov An-225 cargo plane. The aircraft resembled something that came out of a science fiction novel, what with its massive size, manta ray-like build and bristling with anti-aircraft weapons on almost all its surfaces, it looked like a literal flying fortress — ready to take on the enemies of the Estovakian people. Behind it came _four more_ aircraft of smaller but no less massive make; no doubt escort vessels that accompanied the massive _Aigaion_.

At the 'head' of the flying behemoth were seven triangular ports, arrayed in a lower pyramidal formation, which slowly came open in a bout of steam and groaning hydraulics. And, inside those triangular ports, lay dozens of cylindrical objects resting in a complex launch pad — cruise missiles.

The weapons systems officer gave an okay and a thumbs up, and the captain nodded.

"Booster ignition complete!" the WSO said.

"Launch in — 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…" the captain counted down, synchronizing with his wristwatch before bellowing. "FIRE!"

Meanwhile, on the outside of the _Aigaion_ , the steam wafting out of the seven open ports increased in intensity before a loud, simultaneous hiss of seven rocket motors igniting at the same time erupted from the 'head', and seven needle-like missiles ascended into the blue sky, before righting themselves, spreading out and heading north in the direction of the Emmerian capital.

The captain watched as the missiles went on their way, with the WSO already readying the next volley of missile to follow up on the first. It is done, he thought to himself. The fortune of this war was firmly in their hands, and there was nothing the Emmerian dogs can do to stop it.

 _"_ _Engage the enemy at will following Nimbus impact."_ He heard Colonel Voychek call to his squadron. _"Finish them off!"_

* * *

 _"_ _Garuda 1, Garuda 2 here, are you sure?!"_

Jack didn't even have time to reply to his wingman's question, for the cruise missiles had already reached the airspace above Gracemeria. He had thought things couldn't get any worse, what with cruise missiles bombarding his beloved city, but the matter fact is that it just _did._

The missiles didn't arc downwards and tumble towards the earth like they would normally do; instead they were spread out in the airspace before they did what they were designed to do.

They exploded. Violently.

Jack only had seconds to react, seeing as this was the same scenario that Mobius 1 from ISAF and Razgriz 1 from Osea had to contend with, and seeing as the missiles were detonating in midair and far above 2000 feet — Stonehenge's minimum safe zone, he noted — he immediately rolled on his back and dived.

 _"_ _What's this… missiles?!"_ AWACS Ghost Eye exclaimed in shocked disbelief as more missiles exploded in midair.

Jack didn't hear him however; he was too focused on trying to stay alive and keeping his wingman in one piece too, prompting him to act. "Shamrock, drop below 2000 feet and evade like hell! Those missiles are just like that Stonehenge weapon they used in Usea!" he yelled, rolling his craft into level before turning to evade the buildings.

" _Uh… o-okay, r-roger that!"_

Whipping his head to check his radar, his blood froze in his veins as a large blot of blue blips on the screen simply vanished after the explosions hit. His horror only increased as more and more allied planes fell victim to Estovakia's new weapon and counterattack. Panicky and frightened calls over the Emmerian defense-net crowded the airwaves as the confusion slowly spiraled towards chaos as another blip dropped off the radar screens.

Suddenly, one of the cruise missiles detonated just above him, the resulting shockwave jarring his plane as Jack fought tooth and nail for control of his 'angel', the lightweight properties of the Viper was actually hindering him now.

 _"_ _Multiple cruise missiles just detonated in midair!"_ Avalanche reported, presumably to Ghost Eye. " _Half our planes have been wiped off the radar!"_

Shamrock grunted over the radio as Talisman watched him out of his peripherals, the other pilot doing turn after turn, roll after roll to get away from the explosions. _"What the hell was that?! Where are they coming from?"_ he asked surprisingly calmly.

 _"_ _Another enemy cruise missile incoming!"_ Ghost Eye warned, just as another cruise missile wiped out yet another squadron.

"God damn it!" Jack cursed out loud as he pulled a snap roll to evade another explosion. "Shamrock, how're you doing there buddy?!"

There was a grunt on the radio from his wingman. " _I'm doing alright, but the shockwaves are messing up my bird's stability!"_

"Just keep evading — they'll end eventually! They have to!" Talisman yelled back, keying his mike once more. "This is Garuda 1 to all planes! Drop below 2000 feet and evade like hell if you want to live!"

There were calls of incredulity as his fellow airmen vented their fear and frustration at him, saying things like, _'Are you insane?! We can't fly that low, it'll be suicide!'_ or, _'What if those missiles follow us and explode in the city?!'_ But luckily, Windhover cut them off with a stern order.

 _"_ _He's right; those are no ordinary cruise missiles…"_ he said seriously, " _You heard the man_ — _drop below 2000 feet and evade like hell if you want out of this alive!"_

Jack spun his plane around another explosion, ramming his throttle to afterburner as he tried to burn his way towards the bay where the Emmerian Fleet lay incapacitated by the midair burst missiles, the frigates were the worst hit as many of them had already begun sinking. His worry was skyrocketing however, as the missile barrage was _way_ too close above Gracemeria for his comfort — he _sincerely_ hoped his wife got out of their house in time.

Shamrock had similar thoughts as well.

" _Damn it!"_ he had cursed. _"What about our city? What about Gracemeria?"_

"We can't do anything about it now!" Talisman said solemnly, "What matters right now is for us to _stay alive!"_

He grunted as he pulled a high-g turn away from another explosion, managing just enough to keep his plane intact from the jarring shockwaves. Flying just a hundred or so meters above sea level while ignoring the constant beeping of his cockpit alert to pull up, he turned his fighter towards the direction of the King's Bridge — or what's left of it as he listened to his radio, trying to piece together what was happening both in the air and on the ground.

 _"_ _A large-scale explosion has apparently occurred in midair."_ Gracemeria FM's DJ announced, " _No further details as yet. I repeat…"_

Just then, Jack's radar picked up multiple echoes coming from the south, prompting him to shift his attention to that area as well, pulling his nose up and ascending steadily. With his 20/20 eyesight, what he saw made his blood run cold.

In the distance, barreling right at him and the rest of Gracemeria's ragged defenders was a whole _armada_ of aircraft, which was led by a flight of twelve black colored jets. He cursed, knowing this was Estovakia's primary assault force.

They were played by the Stovies, and played hard. Like a fiddle.

No time to ponder their blunder though, he mused dryly. Right now, they had a tough fight on their hands.

"Ghost Eye, this is Garuda 1." Jack said calmly, which was the exact opposite as to what he was feeling at the moment. "Tally-ho on multiple tangos coming in from vector 2-0-3."

There was a moment of silence. _"We see them Garuda 1, standby."_ the AWACS said, and it wasn't before long when he spoke again, this time to every plane that had survived on the Emmerian defense-net. _"Warning! Additional enemy planes have been spotted on radar. You don't wanna know how many…"_

Changing to the intercepted Estovakian frequency while simultaneously switching to guns on his HOTAS, Jack listened just as Shamrock formed up on his wing and the rest of the surviving REAF squadrons were doing the same. With only two heat-seekers, four AMRAAMs and less than a quarter of the gun left, he had to make do with what he had.

"Garuda 1 to all surviving Emmerian forces!" Jack ordered sternly over the radio, taking the initiative to quell the confusion amongst their ranks. "Check your ammo and fuel then mark your targets! Ghost Eye, priority IFF data change on the lead twelve fighters and designate them as high-risk targets — I get the feeling they're the ringleaders of this attack..."

 _"_ _Copy, Garuda 1, and be careful out there, Ghost Eye out."_

 _"_ _Roger Garuda 1, commencing attack!"_ one of the Emmerian squadron pilots announced as they attacked.

A light chuckle was heard over the radio. _"Windhover here, we've got your back Garuda 1. All planes commence attack!"_ Daniel ordered.

 _"_ _Avalanche, engaging the enemy as per your order, Garuda 1,"_ Avalanche responded, and Jack could hear the grin in the other pilot's voice, " _Finally_ _someone managed to stand up and sort out this clusterfuck!"_

Jack grunted as he punched the throttle, feeling the comfortable kick of the afterburner as he accelerated towards the incoming enemy armada. "Yeah, well you weren't doing your jobs, so I have to step in and lead you bunch of misfits!" he replied jokingly, earning a round of chuckles over the net as they began their desperate last stand.

 _"_ _This is Strigon 12. Target acquired."_ A young voice said over the Estovakian net, _"Moving to engage."_

Just then, another voice followed the first, this one had a deeper and commanding tone to it than the first speaker which painted a picture of a severe man with stony features, meaning the voice belonged to their leader.

 _"_ _Calling all Strigon planes,"_ the voice said, _"Gracemeria shall be ours for the taking."_

 _"_ _Roger."_ Another voice called in.

Having heard enough, Jack switched back to the Emmerian frequency and called, "Shamrock, you ready for this buddy?"

His wingman's response was a loud cry of, _"Shamrock, Fox 3!"_

"I'll take that as a yes then!" Jack said before tipping his nose up and punching his afterburners, ascending to about 16,000 feet before rolling on his back and power diving down on the swirling flight of the lead black planes.

As he descended on the black planes, he couldn't help but notice the pilots of those planes were no amateurs — every turn, pull, dive and roll was calculated and wasted no momentum in their movements as they engaged the beleaguered Emmerian Air Force, and already a few of his fellow pilots had been shot down already.

"Watch your ass, Shamrock." Talisman grunted, drawing a lead on one of the Strigon planes, which upon closer inspection was a Yuktobanian-made Sukhoi Su-33 Flanker-D, a highly maneuverable carrier-borne fighter. "These guys are a cut above the rest of the Stovie fighters — they're good."

 _"_ _Yeah no kidding,"_ Shamrock grunted back, " _I've been tailing this guy for over thirty seconds and he's still pulling moves I had only seen in promotion vids back in Usea! They_ had _to be aces!"_

 _That_ , Jack thought privately, he could definitely agree on. Only a fighter ace could fly as good as these Strigon fellows from Estovakia, and even though he could eventually be killed, Jack couldn't help but be excited at the prospect of facing an ace.

He had long looked up to the pilots of Mobius Squadron, Yellow Squadron, the Demons of Razgriz and of course, the Galm Team. Those legendary fighter squadrons had set the bar as to what a true fighter ace could achieve if they put enough blood, sweat and tears into their flying.

That was why Jack trained his ass off, even during off-duty hours where he requisitioned extra fuel for his 'angel' to work on his Basic Fighter Maneuvers (BFM), getting used to extreme high-g turns and sudden changes in the direction of the battle and the orientation of his plane when he was barrel rolling or rolling on his back and diving down on an imaginary target. Even before getting into a plane of his own, he had clocked thousands of hours in the flight simulators in flight school, occasionally getting caught by the instructor pilots while using one of them without permission, earning him a reprimand.

Which was why he was as skilled as he was, combat experience or not. This was why he had honed instincts that normally would've been honed in battle, not during training. And it was why he had decided to take on another ace while only having achieved ace status himself for no more than an hour.

Drawing a lead on the black Flanker, who hadn't noticed him yet as he had switched off his tracking radar temporarily, Jack took a deep breath before letting it out as the pipper slid over the fuselage of the other jet.

He pulled the trigger.

A satisfying ' _brrrrrrrrrr'_ erupted as he let loose with a long tongue of flame that came from his left wing root, spewing high velocity 20mm slugs which shredded the other jet, shearing it's wing clean off as it went into a death spiral, smoke spewing from the wounds on the bird.

"Garuda 1, splash one Flanker!" Talisman called amidst shocked exclamations from his fellow airmen.

 _"_ _Alright! You're the man Talisman!"_ Shamrock crowed as he grunted. _"Could use some help down here_ — _the black Flankers have me boxed in!"_

A radar lock alert spurred Jack into a whopping 9-g turn as he attempted to break the other plane's lock, craning his neck around his seat to get a better look at his attacker, which was one of the black Flankers. He jinked and weaved through the bullets fired at him, before spotting his wingman in trouble with a Flanker on his tail before he rolled on his back and dived straight at the other jet.

Switching to missiles, Jack dropped directly behind the other jet, rolling level before getting a good track and he pressed the button. Outside, a single Sidewinder dropped from its hardpoint and rocketed straight towards its target, whose pilot had reacted a millisecond too late before the missile struck one of its engines, erupting in a huge fireball as the jet's rear half sheared off, the pilot already punching out of his doomed aircraft.

Barely registering the whoops of his wingman, Jack slammed into a snap roll while dropping two flares, barely evading a head collision with an enemy missile and the enemy plane itself. Leveling out, he tilted his nose upwards into a fast climb, punching his afterburners as he traded airspeed for altitude, jinking and whirling and weaving through the chaos that was the airspace above King's Bridge.

Changing back to the Estovakian frequency, Talisman listened absentmindedly as he rolled onto his back and drew a lead on a random enemy F-14, lining up the pipper over the other plane before shooting it down and diving once more onto the tail of a black Flanker.

 _"_ _What's happening here? Two of our planes have been shot down!"_ the young pilot's voice sounded again.

 _"_ _They seem to be more skilled than I imagined…"_ the severe veteran's voice said again, _"Leave these fighters to me."_

 _'_ _Not bloody likely mate!'_ Jack thought as he thumbed the release button on his last Sidewinder, "Garuda 1, Fox 2!"

His last infrared homing missile dropped from his wing and burned towards its target, combining with the engine of the jet he was targeting, blowing it to pieces. Switching back to guns, he immediately did a Split-S to evade another Flanker that was glued to his 6 o'clock before continuing an Immelmann, pushing his Viper's maneuverability to its limits as he tried to outmaneuver the equally capable Flanker as 9-g's crashed into his body.

He narrowed his eyes as he pushed the throttle to full, feeling the comforting kick of the afterburner as he pulled the stick as hard as he could, feeling his vision graying around the edges before finally sliding the pipper over the target. Talisman's short burst of cannon fire managed to graze the other jet, but it only trailed smoke and was still combat capable. His attack seemed to jar the other pilot slightly, costing him a few precious milliseconds that Jack took full advantage of, performing a snap roll, guns blazing all the while and the black plane exploded.

Jack let out a breath he hadn't remembered he had been holding as he leveled out, breathing heavily through his oxygen mask. He knew he was sweating behind his visor, as he quickly raised it and wiped the perspiration from his brow before closing it again.

 _"_ _You're really something Garuda 1…"_ Shamrock said in awe over the radio, before grunting in exertion — no doubt from doing high-g turns. " _Garuda 2 here, I'm left with one AMRAAM, one Sidewinder and an almost empty gun. I don't think I can keep this up."_

 _"_ _Windhover here, I'm almost tapped out as well, but we'll ram our fighters into theirs if it came down to it!"_ Windhover said amid the calls of agreement from his fellow pilots. _"This is_ our _country damn it!"_

 _"_ _Avalanche here, me and my squadron are doin' just peachy!"_ Avalanche said almost jovially, though Jack could hear the exhaustion in the other man's tone. " _We could use a refill after this though_ — _runnin' out of missiles and bullets."_

Other Emmerian squadron pilots were also reporting the same thing, and Jack was pondering his next move while simultaneously dodging missiles and bullets left and right, when the choice was made for him by their AWACS.

 _"_ _This is Ghost Eye to all planes."_ Their air wing commander said sternly over the comm. channel. " _Air defense command has ordered an evacuation."_

Jack paled considerably at those words, and he was certain all the blood had drained out of his face when he heard the next sentence.

 _"_ _You've been ordered to give up Gracemeria."_ Ghost Eye said solemnly, but there was an underlying layer of steel in his voice, meaning that his words were _not_ a request. _"Break away from this airspace and head west."_

Stunned silence ensued over the defense-net. Jack couldn't blame them, for he too was a bit angry as he smoothly spun his Viper around two F-14s that decided that he was easy prey, and he immediately proved them wrong with well-placed cannon rounds in their wings, shearing them right off and sending them spinning straight towards the earth.

Checking his ammunition indicators, he noticed he had only a few more bursts left for his M61. Then the anger from the AWACS's order from before dissipated as he rationalized their situation. Even if they were motivated, the ragged defenders of the REAF were outnumbered, outgunned and running out of supplies. The logical — and only thing — they could do was retreat, resupply and regroup.

 _"_ _Are you out of your mind?!"_ Windhover yelled angrily, _"We_ can't _comply with that order!"_

Ghost Eye spoke again, his voice steady and calm. _"We are militarily at a huge disadvantage,"_ then his voice turned hard. _"Comply with the order and head west."_

" _This is Avalanche, we're not going anywhere."_ the navy pilot said fiercely as he grunted, no doubt performing another crushing high-g maneuver.

Jack could almost hear the sigh in frustration from the AWACS's voice, and despite the bleak situation, he couldn't help but smile a bit — no doubt the other man on the line had it worse since he was dealing with highly patriotic Emmerian pilots — and Emmerian fighter pilots were held in high regard in Emmeria, not just in the military, but in the civilian sectors as well.

Which was one of the reasons he joined up in the first place, Jack absentmindedly mused as he dodged another missile that streaked past his cockpit, already memorizing the flight patterns and tactics of the Estovakian pilots, which were becoming easier and easier to read.

Estovakian pilots preferred head-on frontal assaults, along with slash-and-dash high speed gun runs and power diving attacks, since their aircraft were heavier and bulkier than most. Even when they had access to lighter and nimbler fighters, they still preferred their original fighter doctrine. They would only engage in close range dogfights when absolutely forced to, using greater numbers to stamp out the need for air-to-air combat.

As opposed to the REAF's air combat doctrine, which was the exact opposite of the ones used by the Estovakian Air Force (EAF) — in short, Rules of Engagement were null and void within the Emmerian Air Force, as pilots were given free reign to engage their enemy in any way they see fit, as long as it doesn't involve civilian casualties or excessive collateral damage.

He still couldn't get a grasp on the pilots in those black Flankers though — which were an obvious exception— and he could've sworn he had seen the reaper's emblem on one of the black plane's tail stabilizers somewhere before…

 _"_ _Listen! It's only temporary!"_ Ghost Eye said, half exasperated and half pleading. _"The plan is to withdraw, meet up with all remaining forces from each area, then regroup for a counterattack."_

There was small, tense silence as the pilots let the new information sink into their adrenaline pumped brains, and Ghost Eye continued.

 _"_ _We can't afford to lose you."_ He said quietly, and then his voice became stern. _"Follow the order."_

Jack sighed, already making his choice, no matter how angry and sad it made him as he clicked his mike in acknowledgement. His fellow airmen were already exhausted, and their movements were becoming sluggish and were about to become easy pickings for the fresh Estovakian reinforcements. He took a breath, letting it out as he prayed.

 _'_ _Hope you got out of there, Mel, Matilda…'_ he thought to himself silently, letting a tear slid down his face as he snapped his stick to the right, rolling on his back and performing a Split-S to disengage from the turning circle he was in with an F-4E Phantom II.

 _"_ _This is Garuda 2 to Garuda 1,"_ Shamrock called quietly over the radio, and Jack already knew he was just as upset as the rest of the wing. _"We really should get out of here."_

"Roger, Garuda 2." Jack intoned, before spotting one of the Strigon planes skillfully tail one of the Emmerian planes that was just about to withdraw, and shooting it down like it was an everyday chore before rejoining his flight of four planes.

Making up his mind, but also as a parting shot to the enemy, Jack keyed his radio. "To all surviving Emmerian forces, this is Garuda 1. Orders just came in from the top — retreat from Gracemeria and fall back. I repeat, fall back and head west towards the rendezvous point — Gracemeria is lost." He ordered solemnly.

There was a moment of silence.

 _"_ _Roger Garuda 1…"_ Avalanche's voice said sadly with restrained anger, " _Disengaging from this airspace and buggin' out. Blizzard, Serac, on me."_

The navy pilot received subdued affirmatives from his wingmen; no doubt they were glum about abandoning their capital. Jack received similar quiet affirmatives from his fellow pilots; among them were Windhover and his wingmen as their flight of F-16s flew past him overheard, heading west.

 _"_ _This is Windhover, disengaging and heading west…"_ he reported somberly, _"I can't believe we're really leaving Gracemeria behind to the enemy…"_

"We'll come back for it, Commander." Talisman said resolutely. "Count on it."

A tired sigh came from the other pilot. _"Hope you're right, Talisman. Windhover out."_

There were also scattered radio chatter from the ground forces, no doubt already hearing the order to retreat from their commanders or from Jack's own wide-range broadcast across the net, and their reactions were expected from soldiers forced to give up their capital to the enemy — anger, outrage, sadness, despair and finally grudging acceptance as they too began to fall back.

He then remembered what he was about to do. Switching back to guns and prepping the last of his AMRAAMs for one final, defiant parting shot to the enemy who had seized their home. Grinning to himself, he radioed to the rest of his wing, Shamrock in particular who was flying beside him as the Stovie pilots, seeing them begin to fall back, decided to let them.

Big mistake on their part.

"Shamrock, you alright there buddy?" Jack asked, grinning at the impromptu nickname he had given to the younger pilot during the heat of battle, and it seemed to have stuck.

 _"_ _I'm alright I guess…"_ he replied, and there was a hint of sadness and regret that Jack picked up. _"We're coming back, right?"_

Jack nodded. "Like I said to Windhover — count on it." He said.

 _"_ _Copy that. Thanks again Talisman…"_

Spotting the four black Flankers of the Estovakian ace flight who were still picking off his allies, Jack grinned maliciously. "Garuda 1 to all planes. Be advised, I'm about to piss off a _lot_ of Stovies with what I'm about to do next. Recommended immediate egress from this airspace — preferably with afterburners." He added as an afterthought.

 _"_ _Garuda 1, this is Ghost Eye_ — _what the hell are you planning, Captain?"_ the AWACS asked seriously, though there was a hint of curiosity that made Talisman grin.

"Permission to speak freely?" he asked, once Ghost Eye gave his consent, he continued. _"_ A parting ' _Fuck you and we'll be back!_ ' note from the Republic of Emmeria Air Force."

 _"_ _Uh… Talisman, what are you doing?"_ Shamrock asked uncertainly, followed by several murmurs of agreement on the younger man's question from his peers, especially from Avalanche and Windhover who he had worked with quite closely this past two hours or so.

Tagging the four Flankers on his HUD, broadcasting their IDs to the entire wing, he switched to his AMRAAMs and wagged his wings. "Wish me luck!" he said, before rolling on his back and power diving onto the enemy formation, drawing lead on the lead plane as he kicked his afterburners to full. "Garuda 1, engaging!"

Ignoring the stunned exclamations from his fellow wingmates, Jack immediately locked on to the four Flankers with his last remaining missiles. Setting up for a near perfect missile lock, he pressed the button. Immediately, his last remaining AIM-120C AMRAAMs fell away from his Viper before lancing away, rocket motors burning brightly towards their intended targets.

"Garuda 1, Fox 3!" he called.

He chanced a look at his allies, who had wisely heeded his advice and were hightailing it out of the airspace on full afterburners. His fingers danced on the HOTAS, switching to his remaining weapon as he idly switched comm. channels to the Estovakians as the four planes finally realized they were being attacked. He listened in morbid amusement to their frantic calls.

 _"_ _What?! We're being spiked, who the hell did that?!"_

 _"_ _Enemy missile launch! Jink!"_

 _"_ _I thought those cowardly Emmerian dogs were retreating?!"_

" _Strigon 2, 3 and 5, break formation!"_ their commander said, and Jack realized he had been drawing a lead on their leader, which made him grin.

It's payback time.

As expected, the four Flankers skillfully dodged the long-range missiles, dropping chaff to confuse the onboard homing radars. But Jack only sent them as a distraction; for he knew he couldn't hit them even with a faster missile. No, he only needed to time to align his nose with the lead plane. He watched as the pipper slowly slid over the target—

—and promptly fired.

A two second burst. The Viper's M61 A2 cannon fired a 20mm slug at around 6,600 rounds-per-minute, translated to rounds-per-second, which equaled to roughly 110 rounds per second, and roughly 220 rounds of 20mm high explosive rounds coming out of the rotating 6-barreled cannon.

A two second burst and the gun finally clicked dry — which was expected as fighter pilots were taught to use the trigger of the gun _sparingly_ to save precious ammo, and used only in short, half-second bursts. Though the Vulcan could be set to fire at far lower rounds-per-minute, it was still a guzzler for ammo. Not for trigger happy pilots.

But Jack didn't care, and he certainly didn't complain as he watched his handiwork before him.

The lead Flanker was a sorry mess, with bullet holes riddling the entire fuselage and wing, trailing smoke, fuel and fire as the bird wobbled unsteadily as it lost engine power and avionics. He also saw the cockpit was punctured as well, but from what Talisman could tell, the pilot still lived as the plane held steady as it glided to the earth.

Not wanting to be on the receiving end of the retaliatory strike, Jack performed a snap roll on his back followed by an Immelmann as he exchanged airspeed for altitude before ramming his throttle into afterburner, blasting away from the enemy formation that was still in disarray.

 _"_ _Strigon Leader is hit!"_ the younger pilot, Strigon 12, said frantically. _"Are you alright sir?!"_

A grunt over the Estovakian radio channel made Jack raise his eyebrows. Hardy bastard's still alive and kicking.

 _"_ _Damn it! My plane has taken quite a hit."_ Strigon Leader said, _"I don't think I can fly like this."_ Jack rolled his eyes at that as the man began to issue orders. _"Gracemeria is now under our control. All planes return to base. Strigon 2, I'm leaving you in charge."_

 _"_ _Roger, Lt. Colonel Voychek."_ The voice from the start of the battle said. Jack filed that name away for future reference — Voychek, huh? " _I'll take command from here. I hope you make it, sir."_

Having heard enough, Talisman switched back to his own defense-net as he burned away from his home. Coming up rapidly ahead of him, he could see the surviving REAF fighters burning away at full as well. He also noticed Garuda 2 lagging behind, it was as if…

His radio crackled to life as Shamrock called over, _"Talisman, you brilliant and crazy bastard!"_ he laughed over the radio. _"You nearly scared the crap outta me! Don't do that!"_

Jack laughed, the tension coming loose from his shoulders fractionally as he relaxed a bit. "Yeah, I'll try not to do that next time. No promises though." He chuckled.

 _"_ _He's right, Talisman."_ Windhover said with both respect and mirth. _"You're a brilliant fighter pilot, you've just shown us that_ — _crazy, but brilliant. I'll look forward to working with you in the future."_

Jack sighed, relieved slightly. "Thanks Commander, I was worried that I might've gone in over my head back there." He admitted, "Guess I still have things to learn about BFM. My *IP would've kill me if he saw me now…"

 _"_ _Well, whoever he is, I'd say he'd do more than kill you for the stunts you pulled today!"_ Avalanche laughed along with half the surviving wing, causing Jack to chuckle tiredly as well. " _How many planes did you shoot down including the last one?"_

Jack was stumped for a moment by the question. He had not even bothered keeping track on the number of kills he scored when he fought the Estovakians. His main focus was to protect his home.

He let out a nervous laugh. "Uh, I lost count?" he supplied weakly.

There was a moment of silence before a small whistle came over the radio.

 _"_ _Damn… first combat engagement and you_ _ **lost**_ _count of the number of planes you shot down?"_ Avalanche repeated incredulously, his mirth clear in his tone. Jack could imagine the other pilot shaking his head. " _I could count with my fingers, and I got seven."_

"... Congratulations?"

 _"_ _Yeah, well there were a **lot** of Stovies back there…" _ Avalanche said quietly. " _Anyways, Shamrock, how many did **you** shoot down?"_

Talisman also heard nervous laughter from his wingman, making him raise a surprised eyebrow. "Let me guess — you lost count?" he asked knowingly.

The silence was all the answer he needed.

"Figures." Jack smirked as he and some of the other pilots laughed at the younger pilot's expense. "Only three months out of flight school and you're already climbing up the ranks. Good job, buddy!"

 _"_ _Well, I was too busy covering your ass, Talisman!"_ Shamrock replied jokingly.

He mock scowled behind his visor as he looked at his wingman's plane, looking the other pilot in the proverbial eye as he stared right at him.

"And **_I_** was too busy covering **_yours_**." Jack shot back, grinning behind his mask.

Shamrock only let out a mock exasperated sigh, making the pilots of the fighter wing laugh even with the heavy weight of losing their capital on their chests, which was good seeing as they need all the morale they could get if they were to beat back Estovakia's military.

 _"_ _Garuda Team, maintain current course west to leave the airspace."_ Ghost Eye ordered. " _And Talisman… next time when you do something_ _ **especially**_ _crazy, I'd recommend not informing the rest of the wing of your plans_ — _saves a couple of years from our already short lifespans."_

A round of chuckles echoed through the airwaves much to Jack's chagrin, though he smiled slightly anyway.

"Roger that, Ghost Eye." Jack said lightly. "But don't report me as 'Missing in Action' when I don't report in, because I'm gonna being doing a _lot_ of crazy stuff in the future."

 _"_ _Noted, Garuda 1."_ Ghost Eye said, amused slightly though his professional no-nonsense personality was still dominant. _"All teams, you've made it out of the combat zone. Head for the rendezvous point."_

Jack sighed, leaning back against his ejection seat as he let the autopilot take over and checked his fuel gauge, which showed he only had enough for about a hundred miles on cruising speed. Taking off his oxygen mask and letting it hang on his helmet, his eyes focused on the only personal item he brought up with him.

There sitting on top of several non-critical controls and system consoles, was a picture of him and his family, taken not two days ago at the park they went to. Jack was hugging Melissa with one-arm while his other hand was on Matilda's shoulder, the blonde girl grinning in happiness as her parents watched on with fond smiles with their house behind them.

He touched it, caressing its smooth surface as he fought back the frustrated tears that came to his eyes. He can do nothing but pray for their safety, for it was out of his hands at the moment.

" _I promise we'll be back for you."_ Jack heard his wingman say quietly, and he wondered if it was to his family. " _Just a little longer."_

And so, with Gracemeria slowly growing further away behind them, the remnants of the REAF's Eastern Region Air Defense Force withdrew to the west, unsure of what awaited them in the days to come. But, there was _one_ thing they were _all_ certain off—

The Emmerian-Estovakian War, best remembered by historians as the Anean Continental War, had just begun.

* * *

"Mel…" a distant voice called out, "Mel wake up. We're here."

Melissa groggily opened her bloodshot blue eyes, releasing a groan of discomfort as she blinked against the harsh sunlight stabbing at her eyes. She had not truly recovered from the shock of the past few hours, and her mind was still coming to terms that her precious Matilda was dead.

Regaining her eyesight, she looked to her side to see Monica shaking her; the younger woman's dark brown eyes were also bloodshot and full of pain. Melissa reminded herself that she wasn't alone in losing her daughter — the young mother beside her was one such person, her best friend even.

Ever since they came to the twisted remains of both their daughter's school bus, they both felt as if their very souls — their very essence of life, had left them completely. Just knowing the _possibility_ of their daughters might be dead were enough to plunge them both into near hysteria, but to actually _see_ the evidence that solidified that fact was… was…

She couldn't even find the words to what she was feeling, for it was too much for her to bear.

They had packed what they can into two Samsonite roller cases, one for each woman, and had boarded the emergency evacuation bus the police had provided and they along with several hundred refugees were fleeing to the west. The blonde couldn't help but wince slightly at that — she at least heeded her husband's advice about running away, but she failed him for not protecting their Matilda.

"Mel…" Monica said softy. "Are you…?"

"No…" Melissa shook her head sadly, flashing her best friend a half-smile. "But thanks for asking."

The two women remained comfortably silent as they followed the rest of their fellow countrymen in fleeing west, for their getaway bus had broken down and they were forced to walk on foot. There were in the central Anea countryside, which made up two-thirds of the Republic of Emmeria, which was the largest nation on the Anean Continent.

Monica had told Melissa that her husband was also a fighter pilot like Jack, and the two women related with one another even deeper than before. They both lost their daughters, and they both have pilot husbands who were fighting in this war. It was only because of each other's support that they were even able to collect themselves and escape the capital and keep their sanity intact after all that had happened.

Up ahead, beside the road the long column of people were currently walking on, parked an Emmerian Army Challenger II Main Battle Tank — its commander standing on the hull of the metal behemoth with a voice amplifier in his hands, yelling at the civilians to pick up their paces, for the Army was about to withdraw from the area and were about to blow up the only bridge in the area to deny the Estovakians access.

Melissa and Monica just followed solemnly as they followed their fellow countrymen; idly wondering when would this pointless loss of life because of this war would end, and how their husbands were faring in this conflict.

 ** _~ AC: TAE ~_**

*IP = Instructor Pilot

 **Another chapter done!**

 **Hello folks! The muse is surprising cooperative these past few days, and I've been pumping out new chapters every three days! Yay for me!**

 **Eh-hem... now that that's done with, hope you enjoy this chapter and my slight twist in putting Talisman as the husband of Melissa Herman... *grins mischievously***

 **This is HEIROFROHAN signing off,**

 **PEACE!**


	4. Chapter Three: Stemming the Tide

**_Foreword_** _:_ I don't own the _Ace Combat_ series. All of them are owned by Bandai Namco and Project Aces. The only characters I own are my OCs.

Have fun reading!

* * *

 ** _Ace Combat: The Angels of Emmeria_**

* * *

 _"For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing; a central point between nothing and all and infinitely far from understanding either."_

 _\- Blaise Pascal, French philosopher, "Pascal's Wager"_

* * *

 ** _Chapter Three: Stemming the Tide_**

* * *

It was not easy being a refugee, no matter when or where wars were fought.

It was no different anywhere else, not even in your own country.

For some, it was a relief, a chance to get away from the fighting and keep your loved ones safe. Others, like those who had already lost people who were close to them in the early stages of the fighting, it was pure torture for them — like a bad dream that wouldn't go away, no matter how much you pinch or hurt yourself just to wake up from the nightmare. For these men and women, their only solace was that they were still alive… but for most of them, it wasn't worth the lives of their friends, lovers or children for them to even be alive.

That was the state the people of Emmeria were facing throughout the country as Estovakia continued its relentless drive to the west coast of Emmeria, steamrolling across the Anean plains like an unstoppable juggernaut of death, blitzing straggling and fleeing Emmerian Army units before surrounding and crushing them.

Achieving victory after victory, the Estovakian military pushed further and further into Emmeria, and by the end of October they were in complete control of mainland Anea. Meanwhile, the Emmerian military was in full-scale retreat as the Joint Chiefs of Staff, deciding to save what remained of their fighting-capable forces, rallied every men, women and equipment they had and forged across the Anean Channel and over to Khesed Island — their final foothold on the continent.

Even now, the Estovakians were pressing their advantage, following the struggling Emmerian military across the channel and forced a beachhead onto the northern part of Khesed Island, splitting the island in half as both armies slugged it out all across the tiny speck of land, neither willing to back down and admit defeat.

The situation looked bleak for Emmeria as their military was making their last stand on Khesed, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before they lost and Emmeria capitulated.

Melissa stared blankly ahead as she sat on the steps of the stairs of an old high school repurposed to act as a refugee camp, far from the fighting and near the Kingdom of Nordennavic's border.

At the bottom of the steps, dozens of refugees were piling over each other in front of an information noticeboard, which if she remembered correctly were tacked with the lists of people that were either dead or missing.

She had arrived on the 23rd of October, three weeks after the invasion and two weeks after they had boarded the train which carried her and Monica to this refugee camp near the border. The two women had endured two weeks of pure, agonizing _torture_ as they tried to gather their wits about them and piece together what they knew and what they didn't, trying to distract one another from the depressing thoughts of their dead daughters.

She didn't recognize any of the names on the casualty listing — not even friends or colleagues — on the noticeboard as she watched her fellow countrymen, now also refugees like her, gathered around a small antique radio to listen to the radio broadcasts from the occupied capital — which, to no one's surprise, were filled with blatant Estovakian propaganda which no one bought into but were equally discouraged by it.

It was depressing to say the least.

She looked up as Monica walked over to her, two steaming mugs in her hands.

Monica handed one to her — coffee, Melissa noted idly — and she accepted it gratefully, thanking her only friend sincerely as the blonde moved over a spot for the other woman to join her on the steps, both of them enjoying the comfortable silence as they quietly sipped their coffee, listening to the broadcast as they had nothing else better to do than wait.

 _"…_ _and although newer parts of the city had suffered considerable damage, the castle and a significant section of the old quarter have escaped relatively unscathed…"_ the propagandist said, before he continued. _"However, despite the survival of the castle, it is my deepest regrets to inform you all of a tragic event that had transpired_ — _the once magnificent throne room of the 'Golden King', now lies empty as there had been no doubt of a robbery had taken place during the confusion…"_

Melissa heard he friend scoff in distaste, a sneer on her lovely features.

"Robbery? Hah!" Monica said under breath. "More like you Estovakian dogs grabbing them all and taking it all for yourselves! Greedy, lying, backstabbing arseholes…"

Melissa cracked a grin, the first in two weeks, at her friend's indignation.

She was always the calmer of the two of them, unless seriously provoked. Monica on the other hand was a firebrand when around the people she loves, while appearing to be a proper and gentle lady to acquaintances and colleagues. Her daughter Jessica on the other hand was a slight mix of the two personalities of her mother — gentle and kind to her friends and loved ones, hostile and aggressive towards anyone she perceived as a threat.

Her daughter Matilda, however, was so much like her husband Jack it was not even funny. Matilda may have inherited her mother's looks, but her character was a carbon copy of her father's — easygoing, cheerful and full of energy and life.

The sudden thoughts of her daughter made her solemn again, sipping her coffee as Monica finally came down from her rant.

"Calm down, Mia." Melissa said softly. "I'm sure not all Estovakians are like that — maybe their military, but their countrymen aren't so bad."

Monica crossed her arms petulantly, jokingly sniffing obnoxiously which brought a small giggle from Melissa at the brunette's antics.

"Well, there's that." Monica assented. "But I'm just so _angry_ , y'know? I just wish that…" she trailed off at the end, deep in her own thoughts.

Melissa put a hand on Monica's knees comfortingly, shifting her attention back to the announcer as he continued to spout his 'for the greater good of Emmeria' nonsense. He was currently doing an interview with street children that currently live in the slums as the Estovakian military continued their crackdown of the civilian population.

 _"_ _As the Estovakian military, it is our sworn duty to govern this crumbling nation,_ " both Melissa and Monica scoffed at the same time, _"and get it back on its feet, starting right here in Gracemeria."_

The announcer continued. _"I've found a group of street children in front of the Central Station here, where the area has literally been reduced to a slum."_ He had said. _"Step on up here little girl. What do you have to say about all this?"_

Melissa was expecting a lot of things, like the girl pleading for her mommy or saying nothing at all, but what she heard next was certainly not it. Far from it actually.

 _"_ _Go dance with the angels, mister!"_ a **_very_** familiar voice said defiantly, which was followed by the grunts of pain of the announcer as the girl no doubt had kicked the man in the shins.

Laughter and whoops followed as the refugees cheered the girl's gutsiness, but Melissa's mind was far from what she had done to the man. She **_knew_** that voice! It was as if all her three weeks of prayers have been finally answered, and God was giving her a second chance with her daughter!

"Mel…" Monica breathed beside her, no doubt coming to the same conclusion. "Was that…?"

Melissa nodded vigorously, sitting up straighter and feeling more alive than ever before. "It's Matilda… my little baby… Mia, it's Matilda! She's alive!" she cried, tears springing to her eyes as she cried in joy. Feeling Monica's arms wrap around her, she eagerly returned the offered hug, crying softly into the younger woman's shoulder.

"Yeah…" Monica said sadly, and Melissa felt a wave of guilt flood through her. The brunette still didn't know what happened to _her_ daughter. "That's great, Mel…"

But before Melissa could open her mouth to apologize, the radio announcer spoke up again.

 _"_ _What a rude little girl."_ He said, _"As you can see, these children are very uneducated and it is our responsibility to get these children educated as quickly as possible. Let us continue with…"_

He was interrupted by the sound of breaking glass, along with the announcer's own cry of pain. No one had to be a rocket scientist to know someone had thrown a bottle at the man, and struck bullseye.

 _"_ _Who…?!"_ the announcer said, outraged.

 _"_ _Like she said,"_ another **_very_** familiar female voice said, _"Go dance with the angels, you dunderhead!"_ she insulted before the sounds of laughter, running footsteps and the calls of the adults of the news crew trying to stop the children came from the radio, along with laughter from the refugees.

Monica, who's eyes have been going wider and wider by the minute, had tears flowing down her eyes as she laughed loudly, drawing multiple startled gazes from the other refugees. Melissa couldn't blame her — she would've done the same if she had the energy and wasn't so emotional.

Noticing the gazes, Monica finally calmed down before grinning. "That's my daughter!" she crowed. "Give it to 'em, girl! Show those Stovie bastards what Lampert women do to invaders!"

A chorus of laughter came from the refugees, along with compliments of 'you've got yourself a gutsy daughter there' or 'you raised one hell of a firebrand!', but Monica didn't care as she was too busy grinning.

The two women shared a look of understanding — they were going back to the capital, on foot if they must, for their daughters are still _alive_.

And there was absolute _nothing_ that can stop them from reaching them!

* * *

Two weeks.

That was how long the ragged REAF pilots from Gracemeria had stayed in their cockpits as they made a mad dash across the country, heading west. After regrouping at the rendezvous a hundred or so miles outside of Gracemeria, they met up with KC-10 Extenders from the 10th Air Refueling Wing of REAF's Northern Region Air Defense Force, where they had refueled and continued their westbound course.

Along the way, they only made a small stop at a makeshift forward airbase at the western coast of Anea, rearming with air-to-air and anti-ship loadout before subsequently taking off again, much to the pilot's confusion. Their confusion was erased when they reached the Anean Channel. Apparently, while they were cruising across the continent for the past week, their military had decided to retreat to Khesed, an island far to the west and was even at this moment under siege by Estovakian naval forces.

The news was a somber thought.

Jack was in the process of cracking his neck a few times, the long hours in the cockpit seat had stiffened his joints due to lack of movement. Stretching and cracking his fingers and other joints, the checked his loadout again, making an inventory to kept track of his munitions.

His Viper was small, so his loadout only consisted of two AMRAAMs on the wing tips, four Sidewinders in the hardpoint launchers, two missiles in each hardpoint under each wing, and five AGM-84 Harpoon anti-ship missiles which were stored in the three under fuselage pylons and the missile racks under the Sidewinders which were designed to carry three missiles. In addition, about 400 rounds were given to him in his M61 for his disposal.

Disengaging the autopilot, Jack felt the comforting feeling of the HOTAS as he approached what seemed to be a naval battle that was waging between the Estovakian Navy and the Emmerian Navy. Beside him, with a similar loadout, was Shamrock flying abreast to his right.

They hadn't had much time to talk, as the constant flying and Ghost Eye's penchant for military discipline, kept radio chatter to a bare minimum. Still, it was comforting for him to know that his wingman, callsign Garuda 2, TAC name Shamrock, was a very capable pilot.

 _"_ _This is Ghost Eye to all planes."_ The aforementioned air wing commander called. _"Support the RES_ Marigold _and her fleet as they attempt to break through the Estovakian naval blockade around Khesed. The_ Marigold _and her fleet are all that's left of our navy, so we better do this right."_

"Roger, Ghost Eye." Jack acknowledged, followed by words of assent from his fellow airmen. "Rules of Engagement?"

 _"_ _Just don't stray too far from our fleet. You are cleared to engage all hostile targets around the_ Marigold, _Ghost Eye out."_

Jack sighed, wagging his wings to get his wingman's attention. "This is Garuda 1 to Garuda 2, ready your ASMs." He ordered.

 _"_ _Roger, readying ASMs."_

Looking to his left, he saw Windhover Squadron along with Avalanche Squadron already preparing their attack runs on the enemy fleet, prompting Jack to make a quick evaluation the situation as he armed his weapons.

The RES _Marigold_ , a Kirov-class guided missile cruiser, was currently spearheading the assault on the Estovakian Navy which consisted of dozens of smaller frigates and a few guided missile destroyers and a handful of missile boats. The Emmerian Navy on the other hand had a motley collection of frigates, destroyers, cruisers and smaller attack craft — no doubt scrounged up from surviving naval forces around the country.

The Emmerian Navy was in a sorry state and thoroughly outnumbered by their adversaries, but Jack knew there was one more Naval Defense Fleet that their Navy hadn't lost yet — the Emmerian 2nd Carrier Strike Group, currently undergoing refit at Khesed Island Naval Base far to the south of the island.

Once his check was complete, he contacted his wingman. "Hey buddy, you ready for some payback?" he asked.

 _"_ _Roger Talisman! Let's get 'em!"_ Shamrock replied enthusiastically.

Jack took a breath, letting it out before fastening his oxygen mask in place. Snap rolling onto his back, he dived towards the ocean as he rolled level once more, trading altitude for airspeed as he charged towards his target — an Estovakian cruiser.

"Garuda 1, engage." He called calmly, lining up a Bruiser* shot as his radar homed in on the heat signature of the cruiser. Getting a good track, he pressed the button.

Outside, a single Harpoon missile fell from the middle pylon underneath the air intake, its motor igniting brightly as it burned towards the unlucky cruisers' amidships. Jack pulled away, jinking and weaving through the hailstorm of anti-aircraft machinegun fire that flew at him as he set his targeting emitters onto his next target — a frigate this time.

An explosion a few moments later signaled that his Bruiser had struck home.

 _"_ _Enemy cruiser, sunk."_ Ghost Eye reported. _"She blew her magazine and broke apart. Keep it up, Garuda Team!"_

Jack ignored the chatter over the radio as he lined up the next shot, pulling up as he let his second Harpoon claim his second victim. Not wasting any time, he pulled a hard left and set his sights on another cruiser, this one had unfortunately already spotted him and was blanketing his flightpath with a wall of lead. It didn't help when his radar and missile alerts went off when the cruiser fired its surface-to-air missiles.

 _"_ _Garuda 1, you have a missile closing in!"_ Shamrock warned.

"I can see that!" Jack grunted, punching his throttle to full as he felt the welcoming kick of the afterburner.

It was game of chicken that his IP had taught him back at flight school, which consisted of running headlong into an oncoming air-to-air or surface-to-air missile, which he was doing at the moment, and then…

"Talisman, Bruiser away!" Jack called, releasing his ASM before performing a snap roll, dropping two flares and chaff for good measure. The missiles were fooled as they veered off course as Jack turned a hard right, the 7-g forces slamming him back into his seat as the acquired a quick lock on a frigate which came into his view, releasing his fourth Harpoon.

This all happened in a space of less than ten seconds, and on the eleventh and twelfth seconds, two simultaneous explosions were heard even through his muffled helmet. He just claimed his third and fourth vessel.

 _"_ _This is flagship_ Marigold _; we're engaging the enemy fleet."_ The ship's captain radioed. _"Enemy fleet strength has dropped to about 40%! To our boys in the skies, keep it up!"_

"Roger Marigold, keep us posted." Jack said before changing frequencies. "Garuda 1 to all planes, keep up the pressure! We can win this!"

A laugh answered him. _"Avalanche here, consider the Stovie's navy toast!"_ he said.

 _"_ _Windhover here, got my sights on a Stovie frigate! Missile away!"_

 _"_ _This is Lanner,"_ Windhover's female wingman said, _"No man can match me in the sky!"_

Jack chuckled. "I don't doubt it Lanner, keep it up!"

He was lining up his last Harpoon missile shot when his radar pinged several new arrivals. Cursing, he throttled his afterburners, breaking the sound barrier with an almighty _boom_ before releasing his last ASM. "Bruiser away, Bruiser away!" he called before pulling hard on the stick, forcing his plane into an Immelmann and rapidly gaining altitude, leveling out his turn as he blasted east in the direction of the mainland.

"Shamrock, Talisman here — we've got company!" he literally yelled through his helmet mike, "Form up on me!"

A grunt was heard, no doubt from high-g maneuvers, before a small sigh followed. _"Roger, coming over to you now!"_

Just then, their AWACS decided to make himself known.

" _Warning! New contacts — formations of enemy planes have been spotted on radar, coming in from the mainland at vector 3-0, on an intercept course with our fleet."_ Ghost Eye reported urgently, " _Is anyone close enough to engage them?"_

Jack clicked his mike. "Ghost Eye, this is Talisman, heading over to engage the enemy." He said calmly, priming his missiles for battle. Beside him, Shamrock had just pulled up alongside and was doing the same.

 _"_ _Roger Talisman. Garuda Team, you are authorized to intercept all aircraft coming from the mainland."_ The AWACS said. _"Splash them!"_

Jack only clicked his mike in response, ramming his throttle to afterburner as he kept an eye on his radar. The new contacts were about twenty miles away, and approaching fast. At the rate they were going, he calculated that they would meet halfway in the middle of the channel in about two minutes, maybe less.

In no time at all, his beyond-visual-range radar, though less effective than the ones used by the latest 4.5th generation and 5th generation fighter models, was good enough for him as his IFF immediately ID'd the enemy formation.

"Tally-ho!" Jack called. "I got eyes on at least twelve Nimrods and a four plane fighter escort — looks like a group of Fulcrums!"

 _"_ _Nimrods?!"_ Shamrock gasped, _"They_ really _aren't messin' around here if they brought those hardy bastards."_

"Copy that, Shamrock." Jack hummed in thought, "I think they're underestimating us. After all, why would they send this much anti-ship attackers with such a minimal escort?"

 _"_ _Well,"_ Shamrock drawled out, _"Their loss I guess. Let's do this Garuda 1!"_

And so, as Garuda Team dived headlong into the enemy formation, the battle was joined as Jack got a good track on his radar, pressing the release button on his two AMRAAMs.

"Garuda 1, Fox 3!"

* * *

They hadn't bothered telling the authorities, or what passed as authority in the refugee camp about their departure. Why would they? They were doing the exact _opposite_ of what refugees were supposed to do, as instead of moving _away_ from the conflict, they were actually going _to_ it.

To most, their decision was what many would see as insane.

But to Melissa Herman and Monica Lampert, as young mothers, it was the best damn decision they had made in their lives.

After packing whatever provisions that they had needed — food, water, emergency rations, etc. — the two women immediately set out, back the way they came. Only this time, they weren't running from the enemy, they were heading towards them.

They started walking the very next day, before the sun was even cresting the horizon and the sky still dark. They didn't mind walking; their minds singularly focused on the task at hand, which was getting to their daughters and staying alive. Their spirit and determination knew no bounds, as a mother's love for their child was one of the most pure and powerful forces in the world.

It took them nearly a week of continuous walking, only stopping to take a sip of water or having a light nap or snack before pushing onwards, to finally reach the Emmerian countryside — more specifically, the same river they had crossed just over two weeks ago.

The two of them initially thought they had needed to find an alternative to cross the river, seeing as the tank commander from before had stated that the Army was going to blow the bridge to deny Estovakia access to the tender nether regions of their country.

But when they reached said river, imagine their surprise when they find the bridge _intact_ and untouched, saving them the hassle of thinking of a way to cross the river.

"Didn't that guy in the tank say they were going to blow the bridge?" Monica had asked, eying the rusty steel construction of the bridge when they were crossing it.

Melissa could only shrug weakly in response. "I don't know," she had admitted. "But I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth."

As they crossed, Monica had wondered what happened to the tank, and had just asked Melissa about it before catching sight of something that brought her line of thinking to a screeching halt.

There, at the end of the bridge, was a burned out Emmerian Challenger II which had to be a few weeks old judging by the lack of heat and smoke coming from the wreckage. The normally brash and outspoken woman gulped at the sight, paling slightly at the answer to her question.

Melissa just remained quiet as she managed to get her best friend to move past the tank, trying not to think about the fate of the crew who had served on the tank.

They continued walking in a comfortable silence that had enveloped them, and their walk took them on the same road that they had walked on no more than a week ago. And there, at the end of the long road ahead, was their capital — their home.

Things start to take a turn for the worst when another two days passed before their food supplies ran out, and were left with emergency rations and a few precious gulps of clean water. Rationing their rations, no pun intended, as best as they could, the two of them managed to get nearly halfway along the road before Melissa suddenly collapsed in the middle of the road.

Letting out an alarmed shout, Monica immediately went beside the blonde. Though weak herself, Monica managed to loop Melissa's arm around her shoulder and hoisted her up, supporting the woman who was nearing exhaustion.

Monica sighed to herself. Melissa was always too stubborn to admit that she had overexerted herself, and now she was paying for it.

"Come on, Mel." She urged, "You can do this — just a little more."

Melissa only shook her head, a depressed look on her lovely features, one that Monica had never seen on her best friend's face before. It didn't suit her, she thought idly.

"Do you…?" she began quietly, "Do you feel as if… some things never go as they are said to?"

Monica looked slightly taken aback at the question, before she let out a short mirthless laugh.

"Well, I don't know about you Mel…" she replied, looking off into the distance. The morning fog had just started to settle in at the countryside. "But that's what life is all about. Not to say I'm a cynic, but that's the cruel reality we're living in. We think going to our daughters was easy with the right determination and drive, but was anything _worth_ doing always easy?"

Melissa looked back at the brunette, before looking off into the foggy distance. "No, I guess not," she replied. "And my daughter is _definitely_ worth it."

"Same here, now get up and stop feeling sorry for yourself!"

Melissa let out a startled laugh. "Yes ma'am!" she replied cheekily, earning a swat from her best friend.

Their lovely moment was interrupter however, when they heard the sound of vehicle engines coming from behind them, causing them to tense. Melissa hardly breathed as her mind whirled with the possibilities. Who were they? Are they Estovakian, Emmerian or worse… _partisans?_

She didn't have to wait long when a car — an honest to god _car_ — stopped behind them and honked, causing the two women look back. There, a yellow Volkswagen Beetle, a Belkan-made family car, had stopped behind them.

And behind the wheel, was a middle aged, raven haired light-skinned woman with soft features who was no older than Melissa herself. When the woman, stepped out of the car, the first thing both Melissa and Monica noticed was the distinctive features of the woman.

She was an Estovakian.

The three woman stood in awkward silence each contemplating on what to say to the other and figuring out as to why this Estovakian woman was doing out in the middle of a country they were at war with. Naturally, the silence was finally broken by none other than Monica, who cleared her throat.

"So…" she began, trying to reel in her hostility towards Estovakians in general because of the war, but didn't think she was very successful. "What brings you here to our _bright_ and _cheery_ country?"

Melissa sighed. "Mia…"

"What?" Monica replied, a mock look of hurt on her face. "I'm just trying to make a good impression."

"You know very well what I meant."

"Aww, don't get your knickers in a twist." Monica waved off her best friend. "It's not as if I was going to punch her… well, maybe."

"Mia!"

"Alright, alright!" she conceded before pouting, which was rather amusing to see on a grown woman's face. "I'm sorry. I'll behave."

Melissa sighed again before offering the Estovakian woman, who had been watching their exchange with a hint of amusement in her brown eyes, a sincere, warm smile. "Don't mind my friend here; she's always been like that — my name's Melissa. And you've already met Monica."

Monica smiled. "Nice to meet you," she said, "Though I'd like it to be under better circumstances."

"True." Melissa agreed, looking solemn before brightening slightly. "So, what's your name?"

There was a moment of silence.

" _Privet(Greetings)_ ," the woman said softly with a thick Estovakian accent, not that different from a Yuktobanian's actually. "I am Ludmila Tolstaya. Are you heading towards the capital as well?"

Melissa nodded. "We are. And you?"

"I as well."

"If you don't mind me asking," Monica suddenly piped up, "Where did you come from? Definitely _not_ from Estovakia seeing as we're heading there and you came up _behind_ us."

There was a moment of silence, with Melissa concluding that Ludmila was obviously a reserved and quiet person, seeing how Monica's questions were making the woman uncomfortable. She was about to apologize when Ludmila replied.

"Nordennavic…" she murmured, "I come from Nordennavic — exchange student, though I am Estovakian."

"Ah," Monica said, "Makes sense."

Ludmila nodded, before tilting her head in confusion. "You are refugees of this country, are you not?" seeing the solemn nods, she continued. "Why are you heading towards your capital? There are dozens of checkpoints along this road…"

Monica sucked in a breath through her teeth as she got into a thinking pose. "You're right — how _are_ we going to get past those bloody checkpoints? They'll round us up faster than we could even say 'Gracemeria'." She groused.

Both Melissa and Monica both just stood there, silently trying to think of ways to get past Estovakia's military without getting arrested for being spies or some other justification. They couldn't — _wouldn't_ — give up. Their daughters were counting on them.

A gentle clearing of a throat snapped the two women out of their grim musings, and they both looked up to see Ludmila giving them a small smile.

"Perhaps I could be of assistance." She offered, gesturing towards her Beetle.

* * *

"Argh, damn it!" Jack said as he bent over backwards, hearing several satisfying pops before standing straight again as he let out a sigh of relief. "Never thought I'd miss the ground so much…"

As he set about loosening his other joints and creaks, he looked around the hangar he was in and took in the sights. Not too far away from him, his 'angel' was being examined by ground crew as they checked for any irregularities present on the aircraft. To the right of his plane was another Viper, also being serviced by ground crews and was in the process of being refueled.

Seeing as the hangar was only large enough to allow two planes to be stored at a time, Ghost Eye had requisitioned it for Garuda Team's use, seeing as Garuda was currently a two-man squadron and would remain that way until further notice, which was the Air Force's way of saying 'deal with it'.

He was broken out of his musings when someone called, "Talisman!"

He looked back at the second Viper to see its pilot — a young man with shaggy brown hair and dark brown eyes of average height — walking towards him. The man was only a few years younger than Jack himself he noted which surprised him slightly.

Shamrock was grinning when he stopped in front of Jack, offering a crisp salute which he returned. They stood there, sizing up one another before Jack nodded and held out a hand, which the younger man shook firmly.

"Good to finally meet you in person, Shamrock." He began. "The name's Captain Johnathan Herman, TAC name ' _Talisman'_ , but you can call me Jack."

The younger man grinned. "Lieutenant Marcus Lampert, callsign _'Shamrock'_ , reporting for duty sir!" he said unnecessarily, as noted by the man's ill-hidden mirth behind his brown eyes.

Jack snorted in amusement. "Save it." He snapped good-naturedly. "When you're with me, go as informally as you like. I'm not Ghost Eye."

Marcus laughed at the joke. _Everyone_ knew that their air wing commander had an unyielding penchant for military discipline. Though everyone also knew that he was doing it so that others in the Air Force didn't have to, and they respected him for that.

"That's brutal Captain, even for you."

"I thought you didn't know about me until you were reassigned under my command?" Jack shot back with a smirk.

"I'd call fighting alongside you and saving your ass multiple times counts as 'getting to know you'. _"_

"Wiseass." Jack grinned. "Speaking of saving asses, you owe me a beer for that save back in Gracemeria."

"Oh, come on! You're still onto that?!"

"Beer. In my room. One hour."

Marcus just threw up his hands in mock exasperation and surrender as he chuckled before turning around and heading towards the prep-room to change out of his flight suit. Deciding that he too needed a change out of his suit — he _had_ been wearing it since Gracemeria, and that was _weeks_ ago. He couldn't even tell what date it was anymore — and long, hot shower, Jack followed after his wingman.

And he changed out of his suit and stepped under the shower head, letting the near scalding water wash away the grime and sweat that accumulated through nearly three weeks of combat operations and five hour sleep cycles. After washing his body with ample amounts of soap and water, Jack stood idly underneath the cleansing water as he thought back on the past few weeks.

After that battle in the straits in which a large majority of the Emmerian Navy's surface vessels have broken through the blockade and had successfully docked at Khesed Island Naval Base for refuel, repair and rearmament, the remnants of the battered Republic of Emmeria Air Force were pulled back from the frontlines by the Joint Chiefs of Staff to recoup at Campagna Air Base — a repurposed civilian airport commandeered by the military, and one of the last military installations owned by the Emmerian military.

Even now, Estovakian forces were pushing down the narrow strip of land that connected the northern and southern part of the island, known as 'the Slot' by the ground pounders, and was slowly and steadily gaining ground.

After a week of heavy fighting, they managed to break through and the Emmerians had lost both Bartolomeo Fortress — a formidable mountain fortress located on Mt. Marcello in northern Khesed — and the strategic Sipli Field in a matter of weeks and were slowly being driven back by the Estovakians. It didn't help that Estovakia has sent elements of the elite 9th Tactical Fighter Squadron, _'Strigon'_ , to support their ground forces.

The situation was bleak, and everyone knew it, be they Emmerian or Estovakian.

For the Emmerians, this was their last stand — a final act of defiance against an overwhelming enemy. To the Estovakians, this was their last battle, for victory was within their grasp.

Jack shook his head as he turned off the shower head, stepping out of the stall and grabbing towel to dry off.

His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had with Marcus earlier, and he knew his wingman was just as stressed and worried as the rest of them despite his seemingly cheery attitude. He was coping with the loss and if he heard correctly, praying that his loved ones were alright.

Changing into a fresh set of fatigues, Jack made his way back to his quarters just beside the hangar to get some shut eye. It was already late afternoon when he and his fellow airmen had landed and they were dead beat. He would give anything just to lie down and sleep until the sun came up, but Jack knew they needed to be on constant standby in case of emergencies.

Turning down a corridor, he was greeted by the sight of a refreshed Shamrock waiting at his door with two cans of generic beer in his hands.

Accepting the offered can with a nod of thanks, Jack led his wingman into his room and sat down on his bed. His room wasn't first class in any rate, but it'll do for the time being. Marcus took one of the chairs at his desk as they continued to sip their drinks in companionable silence.

Jack was the first to break the silence. "Nice job, buddy." He began.

"Huh?" was Shamrock's intelligent response, prompting a snort from Jack as he spoke again.

"I said nice job, buddy." He reiterated, saluting with his can of beer. "For a rookie, you did a hell of job. I've never seen rookies fly like that before. Who's your IP?"

Marcus smiled at the compliment. "A man named Hartington."

Jack very nearly spewed his drink out at the man's answer, looking over at his wingman incredulously. "You're shitting me — old man Hartington?" he asked.

"You knew him, Captain?"

"He was my flight lead back when I was stationed here with the 3rd Squadron," Jack explained, chuckling as fond memories came to him. "Doesn't talk much, but he's a real hardass when it comes to drilling new recruits in BFM. Best damn fighter pilot I ever had the pleasure of flying with."

"Yeah, sounds like him alright." Marcus said with a laugh. "Nearly tore my head off when I couldn't get the Immelmann right."

"Well, I'd say he did one hell of a job in training you." Jack said. "That Immelmann you pulled back then with those Nimrods was textbook — you're doing fine."

"Thank you, sir."

Jack waved him off. "Drop the formalities." He chided. "You can just call me Jack. You've proven yourself these past few weeks Shamrock — you're one of us now."

Marcus raised his can. "I'll drink to that." He said before taking a swig.

The both of them continued talking for a few more minutes, ranging from politics, personal interests, to fighter tactics. Jack found out that Marcus was married and had a daughter, loved playing golf in his spare time and was a crack shot with his standard issue M9. The man admitted that he was worried about his family, and was fighting to free Gracemeria more than others because that's where his family resided.

Jack too informed Marcus about his family and personal interests. From Melissa to Matilda right down to his fishing trips at the lakeside lodge, the two men bonded over personal interests, the stress of the war and the worry about their loved ones, which one could relate to the other. It was the beginning of a great comradeship.

It was then the younger man's last name finally rang a bell in Jack's memories. His thoughts drifted back to the night before he left his family to return to his post, and he could clearly remember his wife's best friend and daughter.

"Say Marcus," he began, gaining said man's attention. "Your last name's Lampert, right?"

Marcus nodded, confused at the question. "Yeah… why?"

Jack looked the other man in the eye. "Do the names Monica and Jessica mean anything to you?" he asked.

The younger man's eyes widened in shock. Of all the things he expected his new flight lead to ask, this was _not_ it!

"T-They are the names of my wife and daughter." He murmured. "H-How do you know about them?"

Jack closed his eyes and let out a small sigh, thinking back to that night. He remembered the loving look Melissa had given him when she saw him off, though he could also see the undercurrent of fear and anxiety underneath those beautiful cerulean pools. A moment passed before he looked back at Marcus.

"I was there when my wife Melissa introduced me to her best friend and her daughter." He answered. "It was the night before the Invasion."

A look of realization came across Shamrock's face. "I remember now…" he replied softly. "Monica said that she was going to stay the night with her best friend because the school bus doesn't stop by in our neighborhood. And seeing as my daughter was going on a field trip the next day and needed to board the bus…"

Jack nodded, his eyes barely suppressing his rage. "They did. And the bus was going to the National Emmerian Museum of Gracemeria, in the old district." He growled, "Guess what the only way into the old district was?"

Shamrock finally caught on to what Talisman was saying, causing a look of deep anger to appear on his face. "King's Bridge…" he all but hissed.

"Which the Stovies so _kindly_ blew up." Jack finished bitterly. "I still don't even know whether my daughter survived that…"

"Jesus Christ…"

The two of them stayed silent after that, their finished beverages lying forgotten on the ground, crushed flat by their boots while they stewed in their own thoughts. Thoughts of the uncertain circumstance of their daughters and of course, their wives as well. Jack had already come to terms at not knowing about his family's current condition and whereabouts — he had had the whole flight from Gracemeria to Khesed to realize that.

Looking at his wingman, who was sporting a look that was a mix of anxiety, fear, anger and outrage, he sighed as he stood and walked over to the other man. He laid a firm hand on the man's shoulder.

"I know this may sound crazy, because it is." he began, "But dwelling on what had happened to our families would do us no good in the long run. We just have to hope that they survived — trust them to survive this meaningless war."

Marcus took a shuddering breath. "But…"

"No buts, Shamrock." Jack ordered sternly, before his voice softened a tad. "I need you to be at the top of your A-game. Dwelling on this only brings unnecessary distractions and stress which could mean life and death on the battlefield. Hesitate, you die. React a split second too late or too soon, you die. I may sound cold, but I'm keeping you alive. I will **_not_** lose my first and **_only_** wingman due to stupidity, you hear me?"

Marcus took a shaky breath, then another before squaring his shoulders as he looked back up at his flight lead with newfound determination in his brown eyes. "Copy that, Talisman."

"Good." Jack said, relieved. "Now go get some shut eye, that's an order."

"You got it."

* * *

Lt. Colonel Victor Voychek awoke with a start as the train came to a stop. Blinking away the blurriness, he fought the lethargy that threatened to overwhelm him as he stood, painfully aware of the lancing pain coming from his right leg. The pain did have a positive effect on him though, as it drove away the last of the fatigue he was feeling.

Grabbing the cane at his side, he stood slowly as the pain in his right leg throbbed dimly as he supported his weight on the wooden crutch. Grabbing his luggage along with a silver briefcase stenciled with the Estovakian coat-of-arms which he put on top of the luggage, Voychek trudged slowly out into the train's corridor and moved towards one of the open doors.

He mentally sighed as he neared the exit. _'Relegated to ground duty …'_ He thought sourly. _'And to think that I was in the air, fighting for my country not a month and a half ago...'_

The leg injury he sustained was due to a single 20mm slug slamming into the femur, shattering it when he was shot down over Gracemeria during the early stages of the war. He could still remember that day as clearly as if it were yesterday.

The missiles alerts, the evasive maneuvers, the sudden appearance of an enemy Viper on his tail and the horrible _roar_ of the cannon fire ripping his plane to shreds. He considered himself lucky that his Flanker was still operable after that attack, albeit very limitedly as he was forced to crash land on the captured Air Force Base.

But, even if he was grounded, Voychek would forever remember the audacity and sheer gutsiness of the Emmerian pilot that shot him down, with a Viper no less which was considered inferior as compared to his advanced Su-33.

 _'_ _They_ _ **truly**_ _are more skilled than I imagined…'_

In his musings, he had moved off the train and was slowly walking towards the waiting area of Gracemeria Central Station, which was in a sorry mess despite the cleanup by the army. Debris, dust and refuse littered the once magnificent structure, reflecting the state of the once prosperous city.

He looked up at the collapsed ceiling of the station, the skyline of the city visible through the hole probably made by falling debris or a stray bomb. In the distance, one of the older styled brick buildings was proudly displaying the Estovakian flag in its flag posts.

Voychek mused that the feel of the atmosphere of the city itself spoke volumes; it was as if the soul of the city itself appeared resigned to its fate.

He shook his head. What a pitiful sight.

But, he surmised, the city was lucky that there weren't any craters to mar the land despite the short but intense air war that happened at the outbreak of the war. As an intelligence officer for the Air Force, he needed to see only statistics and numbers and the overall big picture, not individual faces and unnecessary distractions caused by empathy and guilt.

Having reached one of the empty tables, he sat down on one of the chairs while securing the silver briefcase with handcuffs attached to the handle connected to his wrist before putting it on the table. Setting aside his luggage and cane, the former flight lead of the feared Strigon Team waited for one of his contacts to arrive to pick him up for his newly assigned duties.

As Voychek's thoughts drifted back to his former squadron, the sound of his cane falling made him look at where his luggage is— _was_ supposed to be. The sound of running footsteps greeted him as a child, a boy no older than ten, ran away with his luggage over his shoulder.

"Go dance with the angels!" he had called over his shoulder, before several Military Police started chasing after him, whistles blowing all the while.

 _'_ _There goes my spare clothing.'_ Voychek thought idly as he bent to pick up his cane. Clothes didn't matter to him, for they are replaceable. As for the silver briefcase in his possession…

He felt a sharp tug come from his right hand — the hand which he cuffed his wrist to the briefcase — and turned to see another child, a young boy with a beanie cap and dark blue sweater and green shorts, attempting to pry the briefcase from him.

The ensuing tug-of-war was no contest as Voychek easily wrestled the carrycase from the boy, who fell on his behind before getting on his feet and running. ' _They would not be so lucky with these documents_ ,' he thought.

He looked up at the dusky sky through the hole in ceiling as he shook his head at the city's predicament. For children to resort to thieving just to survive proves just how much the war was affecting both sides, not just the Estovakians.

He could still clearly remember the bloody civil that ended a couple of years ago, and the state of the country he was serving was at its worst since the Ulysses Disaster.

What a miserable city Gracemeria turned out to be, for their children to be in such a state. He should've applied for transfer back to Volgograd; at least there he wouldn't see their citizens in such a pitiful state …

 ** _~ AC: TAE ~_**

 **And done!**

*Bruiser =Friendly Anti-Ship Missile.

 **This is HEIROFROHAN signing off,**

 **PEACE!**


End file.
